


Poison Candy

by Emriel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Child Abuse, Corporal Punishment, Deal with a Devil, Gore, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-04 17:57:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14025579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emriel/pseuds/Emriel
Summary: Harry Potter is a normal fourteen year old boy who has lived under the tender care of the Dursleys for twelve long years. As usual, Dudley and his friends were up to something idiotic and forced him to join a betting pool - and lost. The foolish dare that followed sets a disturbing chain of events in motion that plunges Harry and those around him in a state of chaos. Harry wants none of it to happen but apparently he is the instigator. Once the contract is formed, it must be fulfilled - after all.What atrocities would Harry be willing to commit to prevent his own death and those of others? Will he live through it, or would the demon consume his soul?...





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> ~~This is something I wrote 8 years ago... so I don't know when I'll be updating it.~~ *_* I'm transferring the ones I like from ffnet here.

**Enter**

_Emptiness-_

_A hollow feeling that continued to rattle against the tiny box…_

_There is that box where I kept this faded existence._

_An existence that one could fear and hate or love,_

_For the ever-changing world that threatened to take away_

_Seasons have gone by_

_The world did cry - and laughed, ended and began anew?_

_-and yet I remain the same._

_Is this the price of immortality?_

* * *

It was mere curiosity that started this descent into madness. By some unfortunate circumstance, a young man, chided by his friends, if they could be called that, foolishly entered the Riddle manor. A manor whose name was even taboo to some, and yet they still came and defiled it.

The manor, a work of art, was kept in its pristine condition. The very same way it looked before the horrifying murders of the Riddle family. It was rumored to be a haunted house, yet there was no evidence that it was haunted although none have refuted the outrageous claim. None were idiotic enough to confirm the truth of it, for such matters were better left untouched - especially when no orders from the court would do so. No one complained. Therefore, why waste effort in settling an already settled matter?

" _Harry, remember, you can't leave that place until you take something."_

_"B-but… that's stealing-"_

_"As if you've never done that before."_

_"I haven't stolen anything, and I really think this is a bad idea."_

_"Well, you lost the bet! We just want to know if there are ghosts inside…"_

_"Ugh! No that was just a joke. But yeah, yer cousin has a point. You lost the deal. You dun want ter mess up that pretty face of yours dun you?"_

_"Shh! Keep it down you guys. Someone might hear. Anyway, Harry, anything would do as long as you nick it from the house."_

_"Dudley, your mother would have our heads if she finds out about this."_

_"Oh but she won't, and if you tell on us, you know what'll happen. Tsk."_

_"I-"_

_"Take something good, like… panties or I dunno."_

_"Pervert."_

_"We'll wait for ya' here. Don't take too long."_

_..._

"Fine! Why do I always get caught up in things like this?"

Harry shivered as a gust of wind penetrated the thin material of his shirt. Dudley's gang practically kidnapped him while he was sleeping, and here he was - half awake - a shivering wreck facing the consequences of a rather unimaginative punishment. It was a mistake on his part to join the bet in the first place.

It was pretty simple enough. They wanted to confirm how long it would take for a certain third grader to wet his pants under the tender care of Dudley's goons. Since Collin Creevey was a spineless brat, he did wet himself very fast - and naturally, with Harry's mark being the farthest, he gets this silly little dare.

A yawn made it past his throat as he crawled through the rose shrubs - nicking his arm in the process. He collapsed on the ground and stayed there for several seconds before he heard several hisses. His audience was getting agitated from the lack of action.

"I swear to God I will kill them for this."

The night sky was surprisingly clear - the moon giving him just enough light to appreciate the beauty of the abandoned place.

Several statues lined the pathway to the front entrance, and if what Dudley said was correct, there must be another entrance at the back. The eager crowd was watching him, and inside Harry's head, he was cursing every one of them. Especially his half-wit cousin who would probably accuse him as a thief, barking like the dog that he was to his parents. _Utterly remorseful of the act and blaming Harry. It's all Harry's fault. His fault. ALWAYS_ \- resulting in another spanking session from his uncle.

His _family_ was a terrible bunch and Harry often wondered what it would have been like if his parents didn't die. Maybe he would have grown exactly like Dudley - then maybe they would finally get along.

Harry shuddered, this time. Not from the cold, but from the mere thought that he would be anything remotely similar to the lying tub of lard.

He just wished he could blame someone for his predicament. Several times now, he wondered what it would be like to run away from home, knowing that it would only cause several people trouble. The Dursleys would probably take him back. Out of desperation, not concern. If anything, it would be for their own dwindling fortune.

According to the Potter will, a sum of money would be entrusted to Harry's guardian(s) if Lily and James had already passed on, or were unable to care for him. They would not be able to _acquire_ their share of the fortune until Harry was seventeen - although a small amount could be taken yearly for Harry's living expenses. Thinking about it, the Dursleys were in debt with the Potters before this guardianship thing and therefore in debt with _him_. Yet he held no power over them.

However, no one in the village of Little Hangelton would help him. His relatives decided to move to a place where the people that could help him were out of reach. Those who could have would not lift a hand simply because Vernon kept their mouths shut with money so _little_ Harry _did_ not and will never bother them. No one believed his own relatives would be capable of cruelty. The Dursleys were perfect. _Mean, lying, two-faced people._

He honestly missed Godric's Hollow. His parents died when he was two years old. His life from before was a distant past, never again to happen and Harry almost believed it. He was brainwashed to the point where he would not blink in the face of his uncle's continued cruelty.

He wasn't even supposed to know about the will, or that he was rich, that he was worth more than the three Dursleys combined. He wasn't supposed to be wearing second hand clothes, have second hand things, and not be living this second hand life. Only a concerned post informed him of the truth. Vernon and Petunia Dursley made him believe that he was being taken cared of out of the goodness of their hearts. If he told them that he knew about their deceit, who knew what the crazy bunch would do? He wouldn't put it past his relatives to kill him just to claim the money. Their love was like that, cruel and painful.

That was why he was apathetic, waiting for the opportune moment - _it was only three more years until he reached seventeen_. Until then, he would have to bear with the ridicule.

Harry brushed back the petals and licked the cut on his arm, once again wishing that he had had the presence of mind to have donned a new pair of clothing instead of being stuck in his night clothes. The flimsy apparel did nothing to shield his body from the cold. He gave a quick salute to his annoyed flock of admirers before casually striding towards the front doors. He was half hoping he'd get caught so he could put a stop to this idiocy and go back to sleep. However, Dudley had been telling the truth this time and there was absolutely no one except him in the vicinity of the manor.

The front doors creaked open when he turned the knob.

"Ha… It's as if they've already gone inside and they're just doing this to scare me."

He pushed the doors fully, and winced at the sudden darkness that engulfed his vision. It was quiet.

_Far too quiet in fact._

It was as if something was watching him, but he had no idea what it was. Harry gathered his courage and firmly told himself that he did not believe in ghosts, because he has not seen one. There were no such things as ghosts and therefore it was only logical for him to proceed with whatever it was that he was told to do without acting like a paranoid, skittish rabbit.

An unmanly squeak left his mouth when the front door slammed closed. His heart beat was at his throat.

"Who's there? If this is a trick Dudley, I'm not buying it. I know what you guys are up to. You just want to scare me don't you?" Harry asked out loud.

Only the echo of his voice was heard. Harry looked around for any open windows, trying to rationalize how in the hell the door closed by itself. His heartbeat calmed down when he spied a half open window, white curtains fluttering against the breeze.

'Ah good.' He thought.

The door didn't close by itself. Waiting for the darkness to recede, he stayed still as a statue. After several moments, he laughed to himself, awkwardly. He could see something now. Having adjusted from the quaint light, his feet took small steps forward, until he bumped into what seemed to be the stairs leading to the second floor.

He reminded himself that there was no need to be queasy about touching the railings - or anything for that matter, because the caretakers of the house should have cleaned up any residue from the incident. He had a nightmare about it once, because the murders were brutally done. Even if it happened around twenty or so years ago, the murder was still a hot topic of discussion. It was one of the childhood stories the townsfolk would narrate to their children to threaten them to be good. Else they end up like Jimmy and Tom, whose feet were sawed off and eyes gouged out, who were left in pieces and tatters and the same would happen to them if they weren't good.

Harry was not sure if half of them were true, but there must have been a semblance of truth in them… for the stories to evolve to what they were. It's a fact of course that the whole family was slaughtered in one night. Not a soul found out until their rotting corpses were seen by a concerned neighbor, who complained of the putrid smell.

 _There are no ghosts. No ghosts. NO GHOSTS!_ "GOD!"

Harry felt his eyes glaze when he felt something wet slide down his fingers from where he was gripping the railing. Did he nick himself again? Or was that just water? Somehow it was crusty, yet it was thick, sticky, and as he brought it closer to his face - it was reddish. And it smelled like. _Paint._

Harry laughed to himself perfectly at ease now that he knew that there were several pranks waiting for him and none of them were real. He forced himself to calm down, breathing in and out carefully, expelling the nervous build up that kept the paranoia haywire.

Seconds later, mentally convincing himself that he was not afraid of the creepy dark house, a smile lit on his face at the rare opportunity to explore. The first floor consisted of the sitting room, the ball room, the kitchen, and there was a cellar and even a hidden compartment leading to the basement. Harry told himself he would never go down that creepy place until it was absolutely necessary. When he reached the second floor, he was all eyes for the opulent designs of the rooms. No doubt the Riddles were rich. He admired the craftsmanship that was required to carve several patterns on the wall and the numerous antiques that lined them as decorations throughout each hallway.

The numerous portraits of the Riddle family were hazy, given Harry's source of light, but seeing them up close made Harry think it was a waste to kill such beautiful people. He felt bad for disturbing their privacy. As if he was disrespecting the dead by trouncing in their homes uninvited.

' _Well who was going to invite me anyway?_ '

He was staring at a particular spot until he heard a clock chime. He did not know what time it was but he supposed it must be around midnight, or one. He was dizzy for a moment and held onto the wall for support. He felt a weight lift and unconsciously he traced his lower lip, unaware that he was gnashing on it with his teeth. It was tingling, and there was a bitter taste left inside his mouth but he thought none of it.

Sooner than he thought it would take, he managed to explore the whole manor. He opted to take a piece of underwear from a random room.

"Sorry for taking this, but my friends need it."

It was silly apologizing to a presence that wasn't even there. He knew that but one can never be too certain. He wouldn't particularly like it if a ghost showed up demanding his underwear back. Now that would be a sight.

Harry felt strangely exhilarated at completing _the monumental task_. A yawn left his throat as he pushed open the front door, crawled beneath the troublesome rose bushes. He met up with Dudley and his followers who were shouting praises at him and berating him for taking _too long_. Harry stared listlessly at the sky, inwardly thinking what a boring, useless experience that had been, blocking the sounds of raucous cheering and half heartedly answering questions as he got poked around for his valiant feat.

 _Ghosts aren't real_.

Hah.

* * *

_Two weeks later..._

He suffered the wrath of his uncle. The drunken rage was more violent than normal that Petunia had to intervene. Unable to move, if at all, he was locked in the attic with nothing but misery as his company.

He was even contemplating several ways to attempt suicide. Seeing his friends and his own desire to have payback for what everyone did to him was what kept him going. On his return to school, he got sick and suffered a breakdown. Soon after...

_Dudley Dursley died._

He was shocked, at first that such a sudden thing could happen. Vernon was quick to point a finger at him, drinking wine like water, night after night. This resulted to several days of being unable to attend to class.

That was when _it_ showed itself.

A faint silhouette moved apart from the shadows of his room. Harry was far too tired to move away, or attempt to hide. His body was exhausted.

The _kiss -_ and the _bargain._

"Do you remember now?"

Harry felt a few memories returning. He always wondered about that night in the Riddle Manor. There was a feeling that something was amiss. Something wasn't right...

" _What should I do to prove to you I was real?_ "

Sporting several new bruises and tied to the bed like a lamb to slaughter, he ended up laughing, and laughing, and laughing… so much that tears even escaped his eyes.

" _An insignificant creature like you could not understand, but I will humor you . Tell me. If I were to give you death, will you? Will you finally believe me?"_

So foolishly, carelessly offered something and so casual as well like he was offering a candy to a child. He did not know whether or not he was elated or frightened.

" _You care so little for your soul you would offer it so crassly - to a mere stranger even? You are… interesting."_

Both he guessed. He could feel the suffocating weight of the arms seeking to possess him, as he stared at the blood-red eyes. It coiled upon him, a heavy presence - and the overpowering scent of roses... and something else entirely. His breath quickened, wishing he could forget about it and ignore it, treating the presence as a mere product of his imagination.

"Please tell me this is just a nightmare."

The embrace tightened as he fell immobile, hearing the screams of his uncle as perhaps he too died.

"No my dearest, it had taken awhile for it to sink in but…"

Harry closed his eyes. It opened when something dug on his arm, gasping against the fingers shoved down his throat.

"I am. Very. Real."


	2. The Contract

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A contract needs to be fulfilled once made. Harry learns the hard way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning. Sexual content. Dubcon. Mentions of abuse. Chapter not beta-read (even from before I didn't like getting proof readers @_@)... Can't believe I wrote this 8 years ago.

"Careful, boy! Watch the dishes!" The stick thwacked flat on his fingers causing him to lose hold of the silverware and the porcelain. The sound of glass breaking grated on Harry's eardrums and he stood there like a stick, stunned. "Oh for Christ's sake. You ruined them." Petunia shoved him away, and his back crashed against the dining table.

"Do you know how much money that cost?" Harry shook his head, and a slap to his head was what he received, this was followed by the beating of the stick. Petunia thought that if he disciplined the boy enough, the child would stop becoming so much of an eyesore. Usually they would have the maids do the cleaning, but as punishment for Harry's latest _achievement_ , he was assigned to do the chores – and he was not allowed food or water until he finished them all.

The woman grew tired of his cries, sending him to his room – saying that "Ungrateful brats like you should be taught a lesson in humility and respect. You do this to the hand that feeds you, and clothes you and shelters you? Have some gratitude and repay our kindness. _Shameless spawn of that man_. Tell me what would have happened if Dudley was caught? No presence of mind to stop your petty acts of thievery. If word gets out, this family will be the laughing stock of this town. Arrogant child – begone!"

Harry was happy enough to concede – running away from his aunt's fiery temper. He rushed past the creaking staircase, taking time to unlock the door in the attic. A few moments later, he sat on his bed, nursing his welts and reading his second-hand book for his upcoming test. He had been absent for too often for his liking. No doubt Hermione would be flustered about his _outstanding_ school record. He frowned and thought about how it was obvious by now, the reason for his continuous absence.

He stopped turning a page and grabbed his pillow, stuffing his face on it and breathing in. He could feel a tiny voice that told him to scream, let out his frustrations. The thing is, even in here, he was not allowed to be noisy. Still, he considered his attic as his precious sanctuary, in here – he was not touched. He was forgotten. Like a ghost.

Harry removed his face from the pillow, done with his silent screaming. He dragged his gaze towards the dirty white walls.

He thought it needed to be repainted. One of his windows had to be replaced. A year ago, he taped the broken part and covered it with a garbage bag and it stayed that way. Until now. The roof had a leak, and it was annoying to hear it dripping whenever it rained, but he got used to it, after living in the mansion for seven years.

For a moment, his eyes flickered to the shadows, and light bulb right above him. It was buzzing, and if it wasn't so dark in his room, he would have gladly turned it off. Harry mumbled some gibberish, thinking that of course, even if the attic was his sanctuary, he would still rather be elsewhere, if he had a choice.

At least, it was bigger than his cupboard in Surrey.

The school he was attending was two hours away by car, and having no allowance kept him strict to the school grounds. Some of the teachers, and school staff were family friends of Vernon Dursley, and they kept an eye out for him for the first sign of delinquency. The only time he ever gets caught is if his cousin forces him to do _favors_ for his friends. 'Course, he knew the staff would never punish Dudley, and yet the same could not be said for him

Well, what they didn't know is that he held more power over them than Vernon did, and one thing that made everything bearable was the fact that once he turned seventeen, all those faces – everyone who mocked him would have to pay respects to him. And they would pay alright, for all the misery they caused him.

A small rat crawled out from an alcove, and once again Harry was disgusted. No matter how clean he kept the room, there were always tiny little critters that kept on squeaking or gnashing their tiny little teeth on his wardrobe, or anything really. Annoyed, he removed his shoe and tossed it at the thing. It skittered away, terrified. From below, he heard Petunia curse him for the ruckus.

"Quiet, boy!"

He never understood the reason why his aunt was so obsessed with making him appear invisible. Petunia was a troubled person, who couldn't see past the image of Lily or James in him. The woman couldn't even look at him in the eye.

She did not know how to act when she was with Harry, her nephew, so she settled with ignoring him. He remembered an incident, when her aunt had a breakdown in front of him, cradling him like she would to Dudley, saying several apologies – and crying at how she hated James for taking away her precious sister. When Harry thought about it, that incident – was the time his aunt began to distance herself from him.

She called him dirty. But she did not send him away to the orphanage for it.

She wasn't the very epitome of _clean_ though. It was true that she kept an upstanding façade in front of the town folk. She generously donates to charities, and attends to some of the town's concerns but some Sunday mornings and Saturday evenings, she would be found beneath the Mayor – or riding him.

Whoring herself, she was ensured that the mayor would mostly, if not always, forgive the family for whatever transgressions they commit. Besides, it served as a good way of releasing stress. The stress came from everything.

Petunia was uncertain of her life, uncomfortable with the idea she mothered Dudley, that she was a bad mother for having a bad son, stuck with a husband who did not find her attractive. Sex was one of her busy habits, seeing as Vernon hated to do it with her. Other men considered her fair game. Behind his aunt's back, even Marjorie herself was talking – that the horse faced woman was – a right whore and it came as a coincidence that whore rhymed with horse so much that the rhyme was a constant source of amusement among the cliques of women.

Vernon was not exactly faithful as well. Whenever frustrated or extremely happy, Vernon would drink away. Right after that, he would be found in some brothel, with his relentless libido, relieving the tension that could not be sated with his own wife.

He knew they were unsatisfied with the marriage and only a few things kept them together, one of them being Dudley.

When he was eight, Harry accidentally spied on them once, having a round of sex in the living room. He wanted to get a glass of milk and ducked at one corner when he heard sounds. Weird sounds. He did not know it was sex then, but it was a bothersome image that he later researched it - and confirmed it was _an act of procreation_.

The images burned his eyelids and he tried to forget it, but it was just _there_. It was not beautiful and poetic the way books and movies romanticized it - it was just a plain insertion - with grunts and groans and it smelled disgusting. He later found out that most of the time, people like seeing each other's faces when they were fucking, so it really bothered him that Vernon kept Petunia's face under the pillow - maybe to muffle her cries?

Perhaps Vernon found Petunia's face so repulsive he had to shove a pillow to block it from his view. It probably worked both ways – for a walrus and a horse should never have sex. It was just a plain impossibility.

_Who knows why?_

He laughed lightly at this, wincing when he felt the skin of his back come away sticky – knowing he was sporting another cut. His knee was bruised and there was a long line of red, on it. He reminded himself that he had to bandage it properly after taking a bath. He couldn't remember where he got it.

Speaking of Harry's cousin, Harry reminded himself that he had to be patient - Dudley would get what he deserved for all the years he was maltreated - when he gets his prestige back.

It took seven years to understand his place in Dudley's life – and that was simply to exist as his lapdog – or slave. Seven years he fought, with the spoiled brat but only ended up getting hurt. Dudley thrived in cementing the fact that he was a good-for-nothing-nobody, a trash, a freak no one loved… It used to bring him to tears before. Dudley made jokes at how unmanly he was for crying like that.

Now, he still cried but only whenever Dudley was physically hurting him. Who wouldn't? Anyone would cry when they faced Dudley's meaty fists. The piteous act he had to play (crying, begging, covering for Dudley and his gang, stealing...) was a small price to pay for Dudley to avoid bullying other people, especially Ron and Hermione. If his cousin's eye was on him, he hardly touched anyone. It also got him less trouble. Most of the blame whenever Dudley was in trouble is passed on to Harry, and thus Harry thought it was a win-win situation to keep his cousin's attention - also keeping them out of trouble - well as much as he could help it.

So he worked hard to be accepted in their gang, even if he was only there as a mere amusement.

Harry stretched then placed both his feet on the floor, wincing at the pain on his knee.

He called downstairs to tell them he would be using the bathroom, smiling at the thought of soaking in hot water and easing the stiff muscles. This is the only thing he looked forward to. For tonight, and tomorrow – and the following other days. Hot baths were amazing.

He entered the bathroom, taking off his clothes and grinning like an idiot when he stepped in the water – the result was instantaneous and he relaxed. Later, he ducked his head underwater – loving how it soothed his pains. Petunia did care about him, although she would not show it.

Soon, he was done rinsing the bubbly suds, and drained the water.

He gasped, when a tight sensation settled around his stomach. How fitting he finally got sick, after the constant nights spent on Vernon's desk, being whipped red, made to admit it was his fault - and that he was very sorry for _stealing_.

"Damn it."

He collapsed on the mirror as he sought to control his rapid breathing, hesitant to breathe to alleviate the pain he felt on his chest. His cheeks slid past the cool surface of the mirror - and then to the tiled floor. He could find no strength to get up, as if all his energy was sapped – the sensation of something – of being held down – of a very heavy suffocating cloud settling on him. Two or three spasms later and garbled noises of _help_ on his throat followed.

" _S-someone._ "

None came. It stayed like that, for several agonizing seconds.

Then it was gone.

* * *

The ride to school was a bore, and even Dudley knew when to stop when he failed to rise to the bait… His cousin hasn't suffered any punishment from his parents, spoiled child.

"Potter, go home with the driver without me. If mom asks, I'm at my friend's place doing some homework." Dudley seemed oddly excited. When Harry became suspicious, his cousin pushed him to the side of the school gate. "Don't ask. It's none of your business."

Dudley left him, to meet his friends and Harry massaged his shoulder, wincing at how it impacted on the steel gates, then shuffled towards the direction of his classroom. Once there, he was swiftly enveloped by a hug. A painful hug. _He was hurt. Hermione was often intuitive but she was lacking in this particular department, the violent girl._

"Harry! You've been gone for a long time, what happened? We missed you." Hermione murmured, plopping his head atop his, knowing that he was severely irritated whenever she did that.

"Nothing happened Hermione. You don't have to worry about me." Harry's hand pushed against Hermione's chest, groping one shapely mound and giving a very wide grin when Hermione stopped speaking. The flustered girl slapped his face, cheeks burning red.

"You pervert."

"Look who's talking. You were the one stuffing me there. _Couldn't breathe ya' know._ "

He placed his bag on his chair and sat on his table, bored, waiting for his friend to explode. "Harry James Potter, you are impossible! God! I wonder what the others see in you." Then as if she realized her mistake, she began circling him, a hand on her hip and glaring.

"You will stop changing the topic of this conversation Harry. I was really worried, and so were the others. You're not hurt are you?" Hermione poked his back, and Harry flinched. "Stop that, I mean it."

"Fine, well, just so you know. I know about you and Cho, – and I assure you that Cedric will be pretty pleased-"

"Hermione, cut it out. Why are you picking on me – where's Ron when you need him?" Harry pushed the irritating girl away, scowling.

The girl harrumphed, and pinched his cheeks. "Ow! You didn't have to do that. Ron- where the blood hell is he? O-ow Hermione, stop! Go bother Ron instead of me. Ron loves you. I don't. I think he would happily concede to your abuse so-" Harry said all this in monotone, and Hermione flushed. Fingernails joined, leaving crescent marks, and she pinched both cheeks, pulling at them hard. "OW! That really bloody hurt 'Mione. Are you trying to rip my skin off my face?"

"Sorry about that." "Whatever."

Hermione hummed, then her eyes flashed, maneuvering the conversation to another topic, Harry's academic performance or lack thereof, and handed out a shocking yellow notebook.

"Well, here's the deal. You lost a couple of points from Mrs. McGonagall. She would be willing to give it back to you if you show up to her office at around three this afternoon. God knows you need help in her class, since you were doing so well in the practicum."

"Right." Harry drawled and slapped away Hermione's hand before it pinched his cheek again. "There's also a history project. I tried to volunteer as your partner but the teacher won't agree with me, so you're stuck with Malfoy."

A pause. Harry was still massaging his cheek when he shook both of Hermione's shoulders.

"What!? Hermione - you all know I can't stand him."

"Of course he wasn't happy with it. He argued with the teacher, even sent to the GC for it, but you know how Sir. _Cuthbert_ is."

The door to their class room slammed open. With it, loud chattering and high pitched giggles and squeals.

"Oh _there_ he is. He hates me, I think." Hermione trailed off, knowing that it was her mistake to give up the argument with Sir Cuthbert. Their history teacher thought that having the good students paired with the _bad_ ones would improve the general academic standing of the class.

Draco Malfoy was followed by his usual goons, and the flock of admirers - some of them from other sections and year levels. The boy glared at everyone, and it only served to add to his charisma. Harry was choking in his head. Then the glare shifted to Hermione who almost squeaked, stepping back a little. Strangely enough, Draco wasn't glaring at him.

It was odd. The first person Draco opted to mentally torture with his icy glare was usually Harry, and Harry would by now, returning his own death glare however- the Malfoy brat seemed to be avoiding his gaze. _'It's a miracle. I must be dreaming.'_ Hermione's sneaky hands slithered to his line of vision and he snarled, "You really have to stop pinching my cheeks, 'Mione."

"Harry, just because you hate him doesn't mean that you have to make your project hateful – try to put some effort to it, will you? I would be very disappointed if you failed to graduate this year. Being held back by one year is enough."

Damn, and another thing to add to his cousin's sins. Dudley broke his knee once – and forced Harry to drop out of school in the process, laughing at his inability to finish grade one. It was a miracle he was still able to walk now. All because of a single present… Someone was nice enough to give him a birthday present and Dudley wanted it for himself. Thus, a broken knee when the child pushed him down the stairs. Just remembering it made his mood plunge into a very extreme low.

The good thing about the school was that - he was allowed to take advanced elective subjects and it allowed him to keep his best friends close.

Their system opened several additional classes to those who had grades with a high enough general weighted average (GWA). Students also have the option of taking advanced classes. Advanced classes of course, had more prerequisites than ordinary subjects from the said program. The good thing was, once a student takes a subject once, the student will not be forced to take it again once they reach the Grade level where it was scheduled to be taken. Thus, the popularity of advanced subjects. The bad thing was, the student taking the additional subject had to maintain the GWA the subject has requested for and - of course, have a passing grade for the said subject at the end of the term.

Any failing grade would remove a student's chance to ( _ab)use_ this option. A failing grade for an advanced class would not affect a student's performance - however they would be asked to take the class during their scheduled year.

Harry had to be very studious in order to keep his friend's company. Lately however, he was feeling anything but.

"Here are the notes, make sure you copy everything. No, and I mean _no_ photocopying. You have enough time to finish writing this all and I want this," waving the yellow notebook before placing it on Harry's outstretched hands, "-notebook back by tomorrow. Oh. There's just another thing, the exam set out for next month, they moved it. We'll have to take it two weeks from now, so I suggest you review lessons in Literature, and History, your weakest subjects. Harry! Are you listening to me?"

Harry dully nodded, groaning.

"Hi Harry, Hermione." Ron greeted. "Good to see you back, mate." He poked a finger on Harry's cheek, wincing at the fingernail marks. "You pissed her off again didn't you?" Ron patted Harry's head, while Hermione petulantly crossed both of her arms.

"Well, _he_ won't answer me."

"If Harry doesn't want to tell you, then don't force him to. _Stubborn as always._ "

Ron grinned and wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulders, leaning on conspiratorially. "You know, me, Seamus and Dean wanted to know if you were coming to join the chess competition. I've already signed up for it, although we could use a few more people - preferably you - Harry. Whatdya say?"

Hermione sighed, "Ron, I'm right here and I'll disagree for Harry. He has a lot of catching up to do, so don't bother convincing him to join." Harry swung his feet - blocking out Ron and Hermione's bickering.

Harry fidgeted, nodding away to wherever the conversation was going. He was leafing through the yellow notebook, wondering how many hours he had to stay awake just to finish copying everything. How many days would he spend - trying to understand the copied notes? Well, what Hermione doesn't know won't harm anyone - so he would stop by the photocopying shop. Rereading would be his only solution. His attention was pulled back to the present when Ron groaned, and leaned on his injured knee. Harry barely suppressed a wince.

Ron took hold of Harry's shoulders and pleaded, "We're lacking a member and there are incentives for those who join. Come on Harry. You know you want to. It'd be fun." Harry's forehead creased. "Talk to me later, Ron, class is about to start."

The redhead grinned and reached out to ruffle his uncombed hair. Harry let him and followed Ron with his eyes as he left the room, heading for the Chess Club, most probably.

The teacher entered, a scowling man who sported a greasy hair, thin narrowed eyes, pallid skin, a sharp - nose and an even sharper tongue. He stood, tapping his fingers on the desk, and all were silent as the door opened and closed for the last of the students, to leave or settle in their seats. Several girls, clearly afraid, waved goodbye from Draco's corner. Minutes later, a classmate of theirs, entered meekly. They were sixteen in total, out of the twenty-seven students who originally applied for the class.

"Several times, I've warned each of you that I would only wait for _five_ minutes - before I start my lesson. We have all agreed that if you were to come any later, than those _five_ minutes, you are better off, not attending my class. Ms. Lavander, would you tell me, what _were_ you doing, before you entered my class, that you _had_ to waste fifteen minutes of my time?"

Lavander was silent and unable to speak, face burning with shame. "Detention, Ms. Lavander."

Harry made the mistake of calling himself to attention when his mechanical pencil fell on the floor. Harry made a move to grab it and inwardly groaned when he saw the man's attention solely at him.

"Mr. Potter, glad to see you are here with us today. I trust that you studied even during your absence. Now, would you care to explain the last lesson? _Electronic and Molecular Geometries._ Make it brief and concise."

His classmates shared their pity for him. Harry sighed. He did not know what was in his mind when he took Chemistry class two years in advance. It was Hermione's fault, he was sure of it. She only wanted to share him her misery. The chemistry teacher was infamous for giving detentions and failing students. Harry inhaled, and began. "Molecules and ions-"

"Polyatomic." The man cut him off, the voice sharp and scathing.

Harry darted a tongue, a nervous habit. "Sorry sir. Um. Molecules and polyatomic ions have definite shapes... shapes that are affected by the state of their electron shells? They influence chemical bonding..." Harry wondered what else was there, "There are five electronic geometries, and molecular geometries are simply variations of those. I guess."

"You guess?"

Harry opened his mouth to explain himself but Severus Snape held out a hand, a smile not reaching his eyes, looking very sadistic.

"That is enough. You will see me after class and you will convince me why I should not give you a failing mark for all your absences. Pick up that pencil and sit down."

Harry did as the man commanded.

"We'll all see if this class has actually learned anything." The man paused then took a seat on the teacher's desk. "Turn to page three hundred and twenty-six. Answer the mixed exercises. Finish the first six problems. The rest will be passed by your class representative tomorrow, ten minutes, before this class starts. If it is not on my desk by that time, I will mark all your scores zero. Finish early and you may do whatever you want, _outside this room_. Begin."

_It was going to be a long day._

* * *

Class finished sooner than he thought it would take. Random incidents, even an occasional migraine and loss of vertigo plagued him at different parts of the day, but it was inconsequential. The infirmary said there was nothing wrong with him, and it was only due to stress of being forced to catch up to school. Draco kept avoiding him and Harry wondered if it would continue to be that way. The project was at stake.

He was washing his face in the boy's restrooms when finally, he heard the irritating voice of the Malfoy heir. "Filthy. For such a rich school, you'd at least expect they'd clean this place often. Ugh." The Malfoy brat said, and he dusted off his robes and scrunched his nose at the smell of the other cubicles. Harry stared at Draco, who was openly staring at him. "What are you doing here, Malfoy? I thought you were avoiding me. If it's about the project, can you wait-" "Is it wrong to visit the boy's restroom? Last time I heard, you didn't own this room."

Harry frowned. "Well, it's just unusual that you'd…" Harry trailed off, knowing that if he said he knew Draco never used the Boy's CR, then Draco would accuse him of being a stalker. "What, Potter?"

"Nothing." Harry turned off the faucet and took one of the tissue towels hanging on the end of the room. "Why were you avoiding me?" Harry said, cutting to the chase. Draco tilted his head. "Oh? Well, you are right. I _was_ avoiding you." Harry was intrigued. "Why?"

"Before your pea sized brain comes up with something utterly ridiculous, let me talk."

Harry felt his throat tighten for some reason. Draco shuffled closer to the sink, taking out a pager from his pocket, sighing in annoyance. "I'm needed somewhere so I will cut this short. Research what you can. As for where we do it? The written report, and the presentations." Draco drawled, then clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. "I doubt your relatives would let me in their pigsty house, so how about we do it in my manor. My parents would be pleased to meet you, I think."

"Okay."

Draco opened his mouth, then closed it. Later, he mumbled something along the lines of, "I didn't think he'd agree so easily."

Draco hesitated speaking, and turned away from him, opting to stare at his clean manicured hands, as he turned off the rushing water. The faucet gave an audible click. "Potter." Draco said, as if testing the name. "What else do you have to say? Someone's waiting for me so-"

"Potter, tell me, have you noticed something unusual around you?"

Harry thought about the incident in the bathroom and shook his head, scowling at the open bait. "If this is another jab at my parents, or whatever other insult you want to hurl at me, I don't care. I thought I made that clear last year – hands off. If you don't want my friends against you, stop bothering me." Draco frowned, then laughed to himself."Right… we aren't _friends_ after all. Whose fault was that?" The blond asked.

Draco looked at the mirror, and Harry knew the blondpho was still staring at him. It made Harry very uncomfortable. What right did Draco have to accuse him? He was the one who started the childish rivalry. Harry would not apologize one bit for he thought Draco deserved it.

"Potter."

"What."

"I can see something different, with you, no. Around you." With that, Draco stepped closer, and nudged his knee, causing Harry to flinch. "You don't know where you got that, don't you? An injury like that..."

Harry was interested.

"What do you know? Tell me."

Draco laughed. "Why would I? It would be more fun if you figured it out by yourself."

Draco seemed to stare past him, as if seeing an invisible speck of dust that won't disappear. "The thing is, it's going to kill you soon. I warned you before but you can't seem to keep out of trouble. The moment I take my eyes off of you, you have this thing around your neck, and it's very possessive. But I don't think it hates me."

Harry shook his head. "What are you playing at?"

Draco was ignoring him, facing the spot beside Harry, talking to thin air. He began whispering, and Harry caught some of the words.

_Do you? Ah. Good. I think we both enjoy it. Yours? I know._

Harry resisted the urge to bite his lower lip or run away from the room. He had a feeling Draco had gone crazy. First he was ignoring him, then now he shows up, with this _vibe_. When Harry starts to make sense of the blond's behavior, Draco was talking to himself like a loon – ignoring him _again_ when Harry was right in front of him. What was more mind boggling was that, awhile ago they were talking to each other like civilized human beings.

"Well, I admit that I'm playing with you - but what I said, think about it. I'm saying this because I don't want my conscience to be bothered when the time comes."

Harry tilted his head slightly, his mouth parting and closing like a fish.

"You seem confused, you idiot. What I'm trying to say is basically - you're in danger."

"Let's see, you want proof, I'll show you."

Draco seemed to grab a hold of something. The blond then stepped closer, bursting Harry's metaphorical bubble. Harry was unable to move, or speak for some reason.

"Cat got your tongue?" Draco mocked. Harry felt his body freeze when Draco leaned closer, reaching out to touch thin air, and smirking when Harry did not even move an inch. A cold feeling settled on his stomach, and around his neck. "Feel that?" Harry didn't notice anything wrong until Malfoy touched the tip of his finger on Harry's right eye. The eye itself won't close.

"See what I mean?"

Draco's hands traced his neck, and his lips. Harry gasped when he felt the familiar weight leave – the next thing he knew his lips was upon the other boy – tongue snaking inside his mouth. It was like any other tongue - hot, wet, and it explored the caverns of his mouth.

It coaxed his tongue playfully, and Draco, pushing the game further, pressed a knee to part his legs. Harry's body followed like a mindless puppet, and inside Harry was screaming. _This was Malfoy. The brat who, together with Dudley - made Harry's six agonizing years of school life in Little Hangelton - HELL. Malfoy was Malfoy. Malfoy was kissing him. Malfoy was nibbling on his lip. Malfoy was not kissing him. Not. Swallowing his saliva._ Haha-ha-

"You ate a candy awhile ago, didn't you?"

Draco tilted his head just the right way - so it would seem more _romantic_. Draco then maneuvered Harry's limp arms around his person's waist, smirking when Harry shivered. His mouth took in Harry's tongue, he began sucking on it, making a thick squelching sound.

"Sweet."

A feeling of dread entered Harry. What if someone came in and saw this? The brunette was ready to die, from the loss of breath and panic - when he saw a very distraught girl, muffling her cries. ' _Cho! Fuck. She saw that. And she's still watching. Damn it, close your eyes Cho! It's not what it-'_

Draco pulled back, licking Harry's lower lip, then turning around, a mocking glance to Cho Chang, who he spotted on the way inside. "Like what you see?"

The girl ran off, in tears. "My God, Harry, you bastard!"

The blonde laughed, leaning on the sink, amused at the situation.

"Kissing unresponsive mouths is not as satisfying as I thought. But I proved something, didn't I?" Draco took his napkin and wiped Harry's lips. "Told you something _is_ wrong with you."

He turned away, walking away from Harry, and leaving the room - for a breath of fresh air.

"You can come crying to me when you need help Potter. I might lend you a hand if you beg for it." Malfoy snapped his fingers, and just like that, Harry was back to himself again. Harry stepped away from Draco, a hand on his mouth, covering his puffy lips.

"You... did something to me. _What did you do?_ "

Draco snapped his teeth together, as if he was going to bite someone and Harry, who was startled, lost his footing, fell on his buttocks. Draco enjoyed the look of frustration, shock, and revulsion from Harry.

"I did nothing. You will tell the Dursleys you'd sleep over – my place, this Friday. Understand? Bye Potter."

* * *

Harry regained his wits by dismissal time. He still didn't know what the hell was going on, but he knew he had to apologize or explain at least - to Cho. He didn't know what he should explain but Cho had the wrong idea. Harry knew that girls having the wrong idea could lead to dangerous things, and what good would it do to his reputation (or lack-of), if he she blurted out what she saw to everybody?

He didn't know if anyone would believe her - but still. _'Malfoy kissed him?_ ' His mind was in shambles. _'Why would Malfoy want to kiss him? Hell no, was Malfoy attracted to him? All this time?'_

He saw her and she was with her friends. He broke into a run and called out her name. Upon seeing him, Cho, still affected from the morning's display ran away.

"Cho! I can explain."

He ran after the girl, who screamed profanities at him. "Cho! Wait up!" They came to a stop, panting when they reached the empty greenhouse. By now, he knew half the school would be talking about the incident. He hadn't thought properly about how to face Cho so he impulsively sought her out – _publicly._ Now Harry only wanted to slap his forehead. "Harry, stop this." The girl's hand was shaking. Harry shook his head, hoping that Cho could see he was sincere

"No, what you saw wasn't what it looked like."

"There is no need for you to explain what these eyes saw, Harry! Tell me, how long have you been fooling me? All this time you were seeing him behind my back. How could you?"

Harry made a frustrated noise. "I don't even think I'm gay. I like you Cho."

Cho growled, and wiped her eyes. " _You and your silly lies._ You haven't kissed me, even once. Bastard! Yet you kiss him? He is the one you like, not me."

Harry was speechless.

"I knew it. I really should have known. I am such an idiot." The Chinese girl slapped his face. "This is for lying to me."

"Cho wait!"

Harry gritted his teeth in annoyance. Cho hated him. Cho was ignoring him.

He shuffled back to class to retrieve his things. He passed the waiting area and saw their driver. Harry told the man to wait outside for him. Dudley was gone again, so the Driver only had to wait for him.

His cousin really enjoyed making his life difficult. Piers slipped that they were taking drugs. He wondered how he was going to get out if _it_ if Dudley blamed his drug addiction to Harry. Damn. Vernon and Petunia would murder him. Then Cho...

Cho left him _today_ , thinking he had hots for Draco Malfoy.

And Malfoy – he didn't think he could bring himself to look at the blond after what he did, _today_. Harry wondered how-in-the-hell would they ever finish their History project when all Harry would be thinking about was the memory of the kiss, burned behind his eyelids.

They would fail, badly. If they did, Draco would go back to being his enemy. He hoped. He really hoped. Next to Malfoy's looks, Malfoy worried obsessively for his grades. Harry would muck the project in hopes of making things normal again. Harry preferred to keep Draco's existence defined. Malfoy posed a problem to Harry's psyche if he refused to act within the realms of normalcy. Sadly, Malfoy's existence to Harry's life is now - _undefined_.

 _Today_ , the principle summoned him to his office for a private chit chat - and after several minutes of uncomfortable questioning, the man, Percival, revealed the threat of his expulsion due to his numerous unexcused absences. Harry didn't even want to know if his GWA would be acceptable for the dean's list, after hearing Hermione's threats on the big possibility he'd fail every subject. He didn't know if his GWA was good enough to continue his other classes.

 _Today_ , was one of the worst days of his life.

Ron and Hermione suspected something was wrong and pretty soon they would corner him for answers. His knee was bleeding. And. There was a growing headache making it very difficult to focus.

He was so tired. He couldn't focus. He managed to reach his room on the fourth floor, pausing to stare at his backpack. Something around his neck constricted, tightly making him see white and black, and white and nothing... Everything stopped, for him.

Harry stood still on one spot for several minutes, unmoving.

His classmates stared at him oddly.

"He must have been dumped."

"Harry, hey, you with us Harry?"

Several times Harry's name was called and he did not respond. People shook him and waved a hand at his face but Harry did not move at all. It was as if he wasn't there.

When he did move, someone jumped. "You're scaring our classmates, Potter. What's wrong with you?" Harry mechanically took his backpack and walked out of the room. People were staring and taunting. Ron knew something was wrong. "Harry!"

Harry didn't seem to hear him.

" _Harry! Harry mate… are you alright?"_

The headache made him remember those times spent under the cupboard – berated of his uselessness. Ron was following him, attempting to call out his name. Then Harry panicked, and batted at the air. The hallway was still except for Harry's cries and the rushing of Ron's feet.

Ron knelt next to his friend. Harry collapsed on one of the hallways mumbling several things like " _I don't believe him. It's not real. Not real. He didn't touch me. I'm not hurt. I have to stay still. Not real."_ When Harry began to cry, bawling about being sorry for breaking a dish, and promising " _I won't touch anything I wasn't told… Please stop. It. Hurts. Hurts. Hurts. Hurts."_ he called out for his classmates and they rushed Harry to the infirmary.

"What's wrong with him?" Ron asked to the woman who was checking Harry's condition. The woman took samples of Harry's blood and sedated him. It was painful to see his friend like that. "Well, for now we cannot be certain if something is wrong with his system. I've taken samples of his blood and we've sent it to the hospital to test if your friend ingested anything within the past few weeks to cause this reaction. Mr. Weasley, is this the first time this sort of thing happened?"

The woman's gaze was stern. "Yes, it's the first time I've seen him like that." Harry looked peaceful now, curled on the bed – and asleep.

The conversation continued.

The school doctor said the child might be suffering from PTSD, and child abuse or self-mutilation. Harry had several injuries that couldn't be caused by accidents. Pomfrey scheduled Harry to see the school psychiatrist once he's able to.

Ron had a fit, having known that the Dursleys weren't taking care of Harry. To see the bruises, scars and fresh cuts were another matter. He asked if there was any way to take legal custody of Harry, to take him away from his relatives but the Doctor replied that it would take a large amount of influence to do so.

Pomfrey told them that it would be best if Ron and his classmates kept the fit a secret. It would not do if they started rumors regarding the boy's mental and physical health when they were not even certain of it. The students gave their word. Ron stayed by Harry's side watching, and he sent a message to Hermione about the incident. One of these days they would confront Harry of his situation.

A driver picked Harry up several minutes later, and even though Ron complained, the Doctor gave open permission to retrieve the boy. He wished he could really do something about it.

.

Dudley didn't return that day. Later they would hear, he together with his friends found themselves in the middle of a robbery, then a gun fight – resulting to several deaths. It was by accident that the child was taken as a hostage. He was one of the first to die. Dudley was missing a sizeable chunk of his eye and it was a rather hideous sight.

Vernon blamed him for it, and took out his anger at the loss of his only child.

There was so much weeping, and it was unbearable.

_The arguments continued, about how Petunia was a worthless mother for raising a worthless son. Everything was a mess in the Dursley household and he was unable to go to school for Vernon took out his frustration on him._

Concerned phone calls were ignored, since they locked Harry in the attic. Petunia threatened for divorce and Vernon was ready for it, saying he had no need of a horse-faced woman who slept with other men in his absence. Their arguments and grieving was something Harry ignored. They were both falling apart.

_As if he cared._

* * *

A faint silhouette moved from the shadows of his room, and Harry was far too tired to move away, or attempt to hide. He settled that his mind was playing tricks on him. His body was – exhausted. His mind? More so.

He closed his eyes, keeping himself from moving. His back had several welts and it made it hard to fall asleep even if he was lying, face down. Vernon, the sadistic bastard, tied him on his bed, to keep him from running away. It was perhaps another one of his sick punishments. This way he could not relieve himself if he was going to pee – and if he did so it would be on his own bed. His wonderful uncle made an excuse saying he was paranoid that he'd go running to the authorities, and this was his way of making sure that it would never happen. The worst that _could_ happen was if Vernon forgot he left him in the attic, and how was he going to survive that.

His thoughts were turning morbid, and Harry hoped – to god it wouldn't come to that.

Who knew? Maybe the man's anger would subside after some time, and they would go back to ignoring his existence. He would prefer that, to this.

Harry found the situation laughable. So he began laughing, hysterically. He wondered what would happen to him now. He always thought he could take on anything life threw at him but lately, everything was going downhill. A seething rage boiled inside, wondering why he had to put up with this. Why he was even born if he was going to take all this shit.

It was silent, and the only thing he could hear was the rattling of his window and the constant pitter-patter of raindrops.

He was almost asleep when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He was turned around. Harry winced. The cuts and welts on his back rubbed against the fabric of his bed. He did not hear the room open. He was not going to beg for his life if it was Vernon. His thoughts were racing when a hand grasped the chin of his face.

"Uncle Vernon… if you came here to kill me… then-"

"Shh."

A blurry face was leaning over his, and Harry closed his eyes. Fear. Who was this person.

"You're even more adorable when you're afraid, Harry. Don't worry, I'll take _good_ care of you."

 _An intruder. "Who are you. How did you get inside?"_ Harry demanded. The pale hand reached to touch his face and with it were his glasses. The world came to focus and Harry found himself staring at the shadow. From above the lights began dying. It flickered, and it was hard to see – but when he did, it came with an ounce of familiarity. The man's hair was splayed around them. He wore white dress robe, thin and almost translucent, or perhaps it was because the man's skin was so white. He was beautiful and rather familiar. "I know you. I think I've seen you before."

"Are you, a friend…? Are you here to help me?"

"No. I am not a friend."

"Then, why?" Harry was dumbstruck at how to respond to the beautiful man.

"You see, I've been watching you, and of course your pretty flesh. I was tempted several times to show myself, and I've abstained from touching you…" The man hissed, breathing air, as if savoring the moment. "Having you tied up like this called me out. It is a pity though, look at all these bruises… your uncle is a truly violent man-"

" _Stop._ "

Harry squirmed at the wandering hands. It was unnerving him. "If you do a-anything else, I'll scream."

"Go ahead." Harry opened his mouth to scream and it came shrill and loud. No one responded. The man sighed. "You know, they would never care to check on you, and I assure you, Harry – no one would hear you either-way. I have ways to keep them occupied." He began tracing a finger on Harry's collarbone, back and forth, back and forth, so much that Harry's own panic made him involuntarily shout- "Stop that!"

"Child, you are in no position to tell me what to do. Now," the fingernails dug on Harry's collarbone, "-if you say please, then I might stop." The nails scraped on his skin, back and forth – that it brought tears to Harry's eyes. "Please, _stop - hurts._ "

The fingers left the skin, and breath blew onto his face. "Good, you're learning. I like that."

Harry was silent, whimpering when the man began to trace his hands on the numerous bruises that marred the skin. "Do I really have to remind you of who I am?"

Lips latched on one of his nipples, a tongue teasing the bud. Harry tensed. The tongue circled and lips sucked on it, then there were teeth, nipping on it. Harry's back arched."So responsive. You are no different from the first time."

That was when he began to remember _._ Harry felt it come, a series of disjointed images at first, remembering. He glared at the smirking man, fighting against the ropes that bound him on his bed. He was fighting a losing battle, however.

" _You were the man I met, that night… when Dudley."_ Harry winced, and tilted his head to stare at the flickering lights in his room. It buzzed like an annoying insect – and the pounding headache remained.

Slowly, as if reliving that night, he could see himself enter the room. Someone was humming. There was a music box. And he… Harry's eyes widened – the thing… He could not bring himself to think it was even possible. A _demon_? A true demon. It can't be real.

" _Do you remember now?"_

* * *

_Attraction to beauty had always been one of man's flaws – subsequently, to do outrageous things for the love or obsession that follows the said attraction could be called another. Surely, Harry Potter was just like any mortal, and when presented an otherworldly beauty, he should have been helpless to resist it. Men are sometimes blinded by the outward appearance, and they go to great lengths to acquire it or be part of it._

_There was a reason why the Riddle Manor was deemed 'haunted'. Harry found out too late that his childish desire to explore the manor would lead to a discovery he would later truly regret_

_When he eventually reached the third floor, the topmost floor of the manor, he passed an eerie looking room. It was found in the middle of the hallway – and, Harry thought that if he was going to start opening the doors – it would be the last he would open on that floor._

_The door matched the designs of every other door in that house - however it was the only room that seemed relatively abandoned and unclean. A broken door knob, the dust on the floor – dark stains visible with the waning moon's light. Perhaps it was the room where one of the murders took place. Not that Harry would ever find out. The Riddle murders were like urban legends – having happened a few centuries ago. The stories were always gruesome and horrifying, for what else could the town's folk make up when they found the mutilated bodies and started fearing for their lives._

_The murderer was never caught, and somewhere in this manor – there was bound to be a remnant of the incident. There was another question of why the town people insisted the Riddle Manor should be clean – and spotless even though no one ever lived in it. To outsiders, it would look like a viewing house – with the richly manicured lawns and impressive gardens. The archaic design that was preserved – and lived through the wars would attract visitors to it – and more were always interested when they learned that the innocent looking manor had such a history._

_Harry didn't really want to find out, what was inside the clearly foreboding room, especially if was just another prank. He had enough of that from the first and second floor. He skipped the room, but eventually, his own curiosity pulled him back towards it. It was hard to avoid doing so – it was the last room that might lead to the impressive balcony that could be seen outside the mansion. He was passing by the room and that was when he heard it._

_A familiar sound coming from within the room. It was similar to the sound procured by the small boxes that girls used to house their small trinkets and jewelries. A music box._

_His footsteps creaked, and he knew that if someone was there – someone else other than his friends, his lack of grace and stealth had already acquired attention. Knowing that, Harry knew he should run away. It was a bit foolish, and he was preparing to do just that when he heard, another sound, a male voice._

_Someone was singing – and it accompanied the notes – and it was wonderful, really. It was soothing to hear, rich baritone, elegant even if he could not understand what the words were saying._

_The voice was melodious – reaching both high and low notes, unearthly, and it sent shivers to Harry's spine. Before he knew it, he was turning the knob. The door opened to a bare room. Its only saving facet was the balcony that lay beyond the ruined rose tinted glass. It overlooked the gardens, the town, and the sky. Harry thought it was better to stand upon it than look at it from below._

_The floor however, was unkempt, dusty and several shards of glass were lying about, who knew for how long, and sitting at one corner of the room was a musical jewelry box. The door closed behind him in a soft audible click. The man stopped singing, and soon after, the ballerina on the jewelry box stopped spinning._

" _What are you doing here?"_

_Beyond the room, sitting upon the balcony railings was a man. The person was wearing a long robe, midnight blue, richly decorated if a bit archaic. His hair was carried by the wind. It fluttered against the breeze like waves, silky, and even for its unusual length, it seemed to have no tangles. The rest lay limp on the dusty floor._

_Harry's gaze wandered – towards the man, who was glaring at him. He was struck speechless then, for the man's face, the only skin that showed from the billowing robes he wore, was pale almost translucent, and it was rather difficult to tell if the person was a male or a female, if not for the voice._

_The figure was tall, or perhaps, Harry was too small for his age. Harry's slippers crunched noisily against the glass shards while drinking in the man's beauty._

_Unsatisfied with the silence, the man asked once more. "Child, what are you doing here?" True._

' _What am I doing here?'_

_Harry was transfixed. He tried to pull his mind back to reality, to answer the man's question, but his throat seemed parch._

_He could only stare._

_The said man was sitting on the railings, one knee out stretched and another bent to shoulder his arm. It seemed he had not a care for the world, and Harry disturbed his moment._

_"I'm sorry I didn't know someone was-" The man shifted, facing him and Harry felt his heart skip a beat at the thought of the man falling down._

_It was a dangerous pose and his mind boggled at how the man could be perfectly at ease sitting there – knowing that if he slipped by a wrong inch, he would die. Or if he did not die from that fall, he would eventually die. The caretakers only visited twice a month, and the gardeners were not allowed inside the manor for it was locked, barred from the inside and outside._

" _I asked you a question. I find it rude that you waste this chance to explain yourself. If you do not begin to speak, should I throw you out?"_

" _No, I-"_

" _Well? You are wasting my time, boy."_

_The man advanced onto him._

_Harry gasped, and took unconscious steps backwards – until he could no longer, for his back was now flat against the door. The man was swathed with darkness, a mere shadow, blocking the moonlight. The night breeze made Harry shiver and he swallowed compulsively when a hand reached out to slap him._

_Harry's eyes closed, bracing against the contact – and when it did, a gasp left his mouth. "I have not hit you, and you gasp, as if you are in pain?" A hand grasped his chin, and Harry opened his eyes to look at the serene face of the stranger._

_That close, he could smell the fresh scent of roses, and, there was the coppery – sharp smell of blood._

_"You have a cut, on your arm. I see you weren't careful with my roses. They are a rather indignant bunch if you do not spare them some token of your appreciation. Then again, perhaps you deserve it."_

_The man raised Harry's arm and stared at it, lifting it to his mouth "W-what are you-" and kissing it. "So squeamish." Harry blushed then abruptly flinched when he felt a tongue lather the small cut. "My, and a virgin… It is increasingly hard to come by young ones like you who have kept their chastity intact." Harry glared, pulling his arm away and pushing the man off him._

" _What was that for?" The man only smiled and it did not reach his eyes. "You ask a question, and yet you haven't answered mine. Tell me, what do you think was that for?" Harry absently attempted to turn the knob of the door. The man noticed this and all of a sudden there was a hand closing on his throat._

" _Your rudeness and complacency is undesirable. You will answer my question, or I will snap your thin little neck, foolish human."_

_Harry felt dark spots clouding his vision. His hands attempted to pry off the hand that constricted around his throat but to no avail. The man's gaze was cruel, and Harry thought it would have been a blessing at this point if he did die. When Harry thought he would faint from the lack of air, the man relented._

_Harry's knees were wobbly and it failed him so he collapsed to the floor, whimpering when a shard of glass cut open his knee._

_The man took a sharp intake of breath._

_"You come uninvited, so I assume you would not mind if I exact some punishment."_

_Harry's eyes narrowed. "What kind of punishment? If you want to report me to the authorities then just do so."_

_Harry held the knob again, twisting it, only to find that it was locked._

_"You test my patience, child. You see, I am not a very patient man, but since my mood for this evening is rather pleasant. I will tell you… I have a fixation for blood. You waste yours and it dirties my floor. I cannot have that." Harry's response was a confused "Wha-" and the next sensation was of a tongue licking his knee clean of blood, sucking and he gasped, this time in pain._

" _What_ are _you?" Harry muttered, but he was afraid to push away the entrancing figure that licked his knee with vigor._

_"Is it not obvious? No? Then I will let you on another secret, I am a demon."_

_The man's sharp teeth pierced his knee, and Harry gave a scrambled scream. It widened the cut further, the teeth digging in on flesh._

_Harry's heartbeat was loud in his head. His lungs took in a greedy amount of air and laughed at how this escapade ended._

_He was vaguely wondering if he was going to live through tonight and repeatedly told himself it did not matter. It was of little consequence to die in such a manner._

_A force compelled him to stay put, and another pushed him to rebel – and this warring feelings in him were so alien._

_It was similar to the feeling he got when he was drunk. It made thinking close to impossible – and if only the situation wasn't so unusual, he would have gladly surrendered to the feeling. The teeth nibbled on the cut – and perhaps because it was too painful-_

_Suddenly, the man's beauty was horrid to him. If it was used just as an instrument to lure his victims to a false sense of security... – for how could such a beautiful thing commit something, like this?_

_Harry snapped. He had to leave the room. Run away._

_Harry attempted to get up from the floor but stopped when a knee pushed his stomach down. Harry could hear the sound of the man's tongue brushing against the roof his mouth, licking his lips in an obscene manner._

" _Your… blood is very tasty. Will you allow me to cut you up a little, so I can taste more?" "No." The reply was immediate._

_Harry held a hand to his mouth at the impulsive answer, thinking the man would hurt him with his blatant rejection._

_"Petulant, when awhile ago you wouldn't have cared if I killed you. What is a little blood?" The man tossed his hair and motioned one hand imperiously. "It is unusual that you do not resist me, but you are opposed to getting hurt. Are you afraid of pain? Or is it something else?"_

_There was silence. His shirt was hiked up, and Harry twisted his head, swiftly averting his eyes to the floor. When the man's impatience with his lack of reaction reached its peak, the same hand cruelly gripped his chin. "Look at me."_

_Harry's apathetic gaze all but screamed that the violation was welcome. The child was unaffected with it._

_The next to come off was Harry's pants, and here, the breathing was heavy, especially when a slender hand brushed the spot between his legs that Harry himself was flustered to touch –_

_"No." Harry said weakly, halting the man's wrist._

_The man gripped his sex tightly, and Harry's eyes opened, shocked, his breath coming out heavy, hoping the man would stop but not daring to voice it. The figure draped across his body, heavy. The weight of the man's presence, heavier. Coarse fear kept Harry's body from moving, afraid to do anything that might further provoke the man's anger and cruelty._

" _Child, why do you not tell me to stop? Do you enjoy this? I could make it very pleasurable for you if you admit it. Children these days have very dirty minds, and many of you would consent to the touch of a mere stranger. Are you one of them?"_

_Without further ado, the man pressed his lips against his. Harry kept his mouth closed but it opened to a gasp when the hand holding his cock, moved._

_"Ah."_

_The demon wasted no time to enter his unresisting mouth. Tongue slid to caress each other – hot and utterly consuming. It filled the child's head with thoughts of nothingness, taking his ability to think properly. Harry's hips bucked involuntarily. The kissing stopped. A thick wet trail of saliva followed the man's mouth as he kissed his way to Harry's ear._

" _I asked you a question." The man whispered._

_The hand stroked him, and a breathless whimper left his throat. "I d-don't enjoy… it. Ah-ngh."_

_Loud laughter spoke for the man's disbelief._

_"Your body says otherwise. Well, if you do not like it, then why are you acting so submissively? Both your hands are free – have you not noticed? You should be able to wrestle me off you if you tried."_

_Harry's breathing hitched as a thumb rubbed the slit of his cock. He attempted to move away from the hand and the unwanted pleasure, but was forced back on the floor, his glasses now askew, making everything turn blurry._

_"B-because." Harry gritted his teeth and panted, scratching the floorboards when the hand kneaded him there. "Tha-ah-t… would be exactly w-what you wanted." The hand stopped its ministrations, as the man leaned on the crook of his neck, kissing the tender spot on his collar bone._

_"True."_

_The hand began moving again, expert with its attentions – stopping cruelly at times and tugging forcefully, when he attempted to focus on other things._

_Harry turned his head to the side, clamping his hand to his mouth as he tried to muffle the moans and profanities waiting to spur out. He felt it, a sensation that coursed through him, that burned, and continued to burn – so much that when it finally came, he was crying out of shame, because he knew part of him enjoyed it._

_He felt dirty._

" _You even taste sweeter. But something tells me you still doubt what I am."_

" _You are… j-just a rapist. Rape is something any human is capable of committing."_

_This time, a slap was brought to his face – it was not harsh, but what it carried with it, the whitish sticky substance, his semen, made Harry's mouth shut itself. The semen dripped on his lips and if his tongue darted out he would taste himself. "What I have committed could not be called rape, little boy. Did you struggle?"_

" _You threatened me."_

" _Have I entered you?"_

_Harry flushed from the idea. "From my point of view, I was doing you a favor. What I did was hardly a sin, Harry."_

" _W-wait. How do you know my name?"_

" _I know everything." The man declared. Harry wondered if the man thought he was God._

_The fingers were shoved inside his mouth. "Lick."_

_Harry, having no other choice let his tongue taste the bitter – disgusting – essence of his and wrapped it around the fingers."Swallow it."_

_The child knew that without being told._

" _What would I do to prove to you I was real?"_

_He took the fingers out of the mouth, pulling the child up with his hair. Harry groaned and was rationalizing that the man was just a deluded man. If he was a demon, where was the proof? Harry thought the man was real enough for his fingers to tear hair on his scalp… human enough- because the man looked like a mere human. To call himself a – demon? He thought it was just a euphemism but now, now that he thought about the possibility, Harry became confused. How could an entity such as a demon, exist?_

_The clock chimed. The sound echoed across the manor walls._

" _Why are you doing this?" Harry asked, even though he didn't want to know the answer. He was afraid that it would not be what he wanted to hear. His slippers crunched on the broken shards of glass. The reward for his cheek was the tightening of the fingers on his hair. "Child, your silly ineloquent questions will sooner or later spur me to rip your scalp off your head."_

_Harry glared at the man's robes, anything but the man himself. The black robes were richly decorated – for a nightgown. It had silly writings that made no sense to him. The robe had golden accents on its sleeves and a thin sash to keep the elegant piece in place. The man was barefoot, his long black hair trailing on the ground, around him, luminescent and perfect- His hair was wrenched upwards._

" _It was a dare. Dudley… my cousin told me to steal something here as a punishment for losing a bet. I wasn't supposed to do anything else. I'm sorry. Please don't hurt me anymore."_

" _Is that so?" The hand gripping his hair forced him to stand up and he did. Harry was freed from the grip, the child raised a hand to his scalp, massaging it._

" _Well, it is too late for that. You are, to me, a gift from the heavens. A treat that I consider rare, and unusual. I would be a fool to let you go. However, if you promise to keep this meeting, a secret-" The man trailed off suggestively._

_Harry regained some of his sanity and accused the man. "I will tell them. A man like you is not someone easy to miss. It would ruin your reputation if they find out you… what… what you did." The man sighed, and forced the child onto his arms. Harry stumbled, and struggled against the possessive hold. "A challenge? But I fear for you – as I am non-existent in this town. They would, no doubt, send you to a mental hospital, if you started claiming you saw someone here. For your sake, I suggest you tell no-one of this incident, hmn? Shouldn't you be happy, I am letting you go?"_

_Harry stopped his struggles, staring at the man's eyes - noticing the peculiar color. It was red. Blood red._

" _Then kill me. Kill me now."_

" _I am certain that you do not want to die by my hand. Although it is a tempting offer, you cannot force me to do what I do not want to do." The man caressed Harry's face and Harry was enraged._

" _And you can? How many people have you victimized? There would be talk about it I'm sure." There was a sly smirk suddenly on the face of the 'demon'. "Are you jealous? Don't be, Harry. They have all died before they could tell of my existence. You. Alone. I would spare you."_

" _I don't believe you… not only are you a rapist… you are a murderer too. God… please let go of me."_

_The gaze was concerned, red eyes bore holes – staring as if attempting to read his mind. Harry felt something slither past his insides, a cold unwelcome feeling. The intensity was too much that he was forced to grasp the man's waist, suddenly feeling tired._

_A burgeoning headache reared its ugly head, for he was not used to staying up this late – and was normally, at this time, sleeping peacefully in the attic._ " _An insignificant creature like you could not understand – but I will humor you – tell me."_

" _What..."_

" _What do I need to do to prove to you I am a Demon?"_

" _Show me your wings."_

_The man looked affronted. "Demons have no wings, foolish child."_

" _Well… how about magic?" Harry wondered what to say, a random thought entered him from out of nowhere._

_"If I show you magic, then I would have to kill you unless, you offer me- something of yours. Humans are not allowed to realize our existence and I've already made you an exception." Harry was frustrated. The man was simply playing with him._

_"Make something happen, like - something disappear." The man was interested. "I do not understand what you mean by 'something'. Elaborate." Harry's forehead creased. "Well, this town, things, people – I dunno. Just do something."_

" _Anything?"_

_The man cajoled, looking positively feral with hunger._

" _If I were to give you death, will you? Will you finally believe me?"_

" _Yes. That and if you could prove to me you are real, then you can have my soul." Harry offered, aware that the man was joking or he was in denial, or perhaps he had a very active imagination –_

" _You care so little for your soul you would offer it crassly – to a mere stranger even? You are… interesting." Harry felt the man kiss him, suckling on his lower lip. "I want to keep you." Harry groaned, feeling the headache settle. "Why do I feel so… dizzy?"_

" _You will remember this when the time comes, and when it does, I will have fun, devouring you, foolish little child."_

* * *

 

Harry remembered every vivid detail alright.

"So it was you! You did this to me. Everything's your fault!" Harry bellowed. The boy struggled against the ropes. The demon laughed at his useless attempts to free himself. "Pointing a finger at me? How immature. It's your fault for failing to take the initiative. You allow yourself to be carried by the tide, and if and when you drown, you look for someone to blame." The demon said this, while licking a trail – and lathering kisses on Harry's stomach. "Although, I want to admit – it is partly my fault. I enjoy seeing you squirm, you see."

Harry began wrestling against the ropes. Both his hands were above his head, tied to the headboard. His feet were tied together. He was frustrated beyond belief when the knots refused to budge. "Harry, I promised – and since I've given you my word – I will deliver the _bargain_ completely. Then I will feast on your soul." A hand pressed on his stomach and his back pressed on the mattress. Harry moaned out weakly. "You can't be real."

The man was kissing his eye, knowing that Harry was close to tears. "It's a shame you've wasted all this blood – but I will punish you for that, later."

"Please tell me this is just a nightmare."

Downstairs he could hear Vernon and Petunia fight – dishes and other appliances crashing. Perhaps one of them would finally die from the ruckus that they were making. The demon, affronted that Harry's attention was elsewhere, climbed onto the bed and straddled him. Red eyes glinted as the pale hands reached out from under the child, wiping them against Harry's back. Harry sucked in breath, choking when the nails scrape against the cuts. The demon grinned, all teeth. Then it made a deliberate show of the blood that marred his fingers – licking it.

"You're not real." Harry whispered, horrified yet transfixed at how the man cleaned them one by one.

"No my dearest, it had taken awhile for it to sink in but…"

Harry closed his eyes. It opened when something dug on his arm. Harry shivered and gasped as fingers were shoved down his throat.

"I am. Very. Real."

Harry spit out his own blood, mixed with the man's saliva – it was appalling. " _Let me go._ I don't want this. I don't… why are you doing this to me? _"_

Harry felt his face flush when a hand pulled down his pajamas, together with his underwear, exposing him to the cold room. "Why do you wonder? In the end I will have you entirely – for you cannot escape me. Offering your soul to me meant you offered all of yourself… I did say I will come and claim you."

"W-what do you mean?"

"Do not pretend to be ignorant."

Something sharp touched the side of his thigh and Harry held his breath. The sharp thing moved, up and down and when it finally broke skin, Harry was gasping. "S-Stop."

" _Please._ "

"You said you would stop if I said please!" Harry accused. A hand slapped his face. "Silence."

The demon did not stop. The pointed thing trailed downwards scraping against skin. "If I untie your feet, you will not kick me. Can you promise not to do anything that will give me a reason to end your life?"

Harry nodded. The knife cut through the ropes of his feet and Harry flexed them – They were tingling from the tightness of the knots. He would have lost his feet if the man hadn't untied it.

"From now on, I want you to do as I say. I might do this gently, or roughly, it is up to you, Harry."

Harry sighed, knowing there was no way he could escape it. He looked at the waiting demon and weakly said, "J _ust do it, I want this over._ "

There was a grin, and the whispered to Harry's ear. "Good." The voice purred. The hand which held him steady ventured to his nether regions, eliciting a cry. Harry closed his eyes. The hand traced the underside of his cock. He was painfully hard by the time it stopped its ministrations, and he opened his eyes, breath heavy, staring at the red eyed man.

"Lick my fingers, Harry. I want them dripping when I take it out of your mouth."

Harry opened his mouth obediently, and he made sure the fingers were heavily coated with saliva. The fingers left his mouth, sliding past his lips – where a thin line, trailed to his jaw. Harry watched with half lidded eyes until it came to rest upon his hip – and felt it on the opening of his anus. One finger entered the red pucker, and Harry turned his head to the side, unused to the sensation.

"You've never had a finger up your ass? Right?" The finger obscenely wiggled.

"I've never had anything there except shit." The man paused, pushing against the warm walls, watching how Harry adjusted to it with keen interest. "We have to do something about that mouth of yours. I can't have you saying whatever you have in mind all the time.

Another finger went in, and both went in and out, scissoring and stretching him. "Is it uncomfortable?" Harry shook his head. "It just feels a bit weird." Thomas smirked, "I see." All he could do was cry out as it touched a sensitive spot in him, making his eyes go wide open. A moan left his mouth as the man touched the spot again and again. "W-what's that…" Harry asked, "Don't ask, just feel. Yes, keep your eyes open. I want to see how you look while you take them all in."

The man did not wait to add another – until there were three. Harry stared heavenward, hands curling to form fists at the forceful entry. It was different from having one. His body didn't know what to do with the intrusion but it was starting to feel good, really good.

"Your uncle did a good job of tying you up. Perhaps I should applaud him for retaining some of his morals. If I was your uncle, I would have gladly… humans nowadays have another word for it… fuck. Yes, I would happily fuck you till you could not walk."

Harry's only reply was a low moan. "You like this." Harry mouthed a no.

"Liar. Now bend your knees for me."

The fingers stopped their assault – leaving the tight ring of muscles quivering. There was something interesting about how the hole was gaping – then closing little by little. Harry was hesitant to adhere to the man's command and he was forced nudge Harry's legs apart, hoping it would return him back to reality. "Your knees, boy." "H-how… do you want me t-to bend them?" Harry's voice cracked at the last part.

The child was the epitome of sin, asking a question like that.

"Place your feet flat on the bed, and bend your knees, closer... closer to your hips. Yes. Now, spread them."

"Wider."

"Good."

"This is disgusting." It was a whisper, but the smirk on the demon's face was enough to tell him that _he heard._ The man looked at him, and for several uncomfortable seconds Harry stayed in that position. His legs were quivering and when he made a move to close them, hands kept them still. "Don't move." A hand reached out to trace his cock. Harry closed his eyes, it gripped him hard. "And don't _ever_ close your eyes."

Fingers were back inside of him, and the sudden dryness made it a bit uncomfortable. It was like he was being rubbed raw, and Harry tried his hardest to keep his feet and legs still as another finger was added. Harry cried out, twisting his head to the side, hoping he could bite something, preferably a chunk of the demons flesh – and teach him about pain or two. "They will not hear you, if you scream. Feel free little child."

The fingers were stretching him widely – and Harry felt something tear. It was painful, and Harry never thought that it could be painful in that place.

"Fuck you!" "My, what a vile tongue, but forgive me. It is one of your few wishes that I could never allow to happen."

"God stop it. It hurts. Ah- Agh!" Harry was tried to push the man away but only succeeded in impaling himself with those fingers. His saliva trailed down his chin and was rewarded with a consuming kiss.

"But it feels good too, doesn't it?" The fingers wriggled, Harry shook his head, biting back the moan waiting to come out. "Forgive me, I should give you a name to call out to, but my demonic name is something you cannot utter with your human tongue. Then, perhaps, I should go with Thomas."

The long fingers were taken away, and Harry knew something much worse would replace it. He watched the older years do it at school, and he braced himself for intrusion.

"Say Thomas, Harry. Call out my name..."

The man settled himself between his legs. Harry still had the energy to spit at the leering creature. Thomas wiped his face in distaste. The next thing he knew, he was being strangled. " _Say my name, human._ " The man's grip on his neck loosened.

Harry's mouth opened and he called out, "Thoma- AHHH! That fucking hurt you bastard take it fucking out! Take it out off me! Please take it ngh-" Thomas strangled the child again, laughing, as he began to move. When he could feel the child panicking for the loss of breath, he relented. The child greedily breathed in air. Tears were leaking out of the Harry's eyes, _finally_. Mouth parted – panting, whimpering.

" _Please stop._ "

 _Stop stop stop. It hurts._ It hurts. _It hurts._ "Thomas p-please. You're hurting me."

Thomas did so, and wiped the tears with his thumb. "Breaking already? There are worse things I could do to you."

Harry's mouth trembled. "I'm sorry I closed my eyes. I promise I won't do it again..."

"Really. Then don't disappoint me. I want to see how your eyes look when I'm taking you. I want you tell me that you like this."

Thomas punctuated his statement when he buried himself deep, then waited for the boy to adjust. – Harry moaned this time as a hand touched his neglected sex. "You like this, Harry." The man pulled out and slammed back in. "I know you love this." The slap of flesh and the squelching and the creaking of the floor – rocking of the bed accompanied Harry's moans. It was painful as was the rest of his body – but with pain – there was also pleasure. His

"Harry, this is something you will learn to enjoy. You are after all, a mere human, and that which gives you pleasure." "Ahhh!" "–you will not be able to avoid." Thomas grinned, pushing his cock to the hilt. The resulting moan was rather erotic. Thomas lowered his voice to a dangerous purr, "It would be so much easier if you gave in, Harry? Will you not admit that you love my cock up your ass?"

Harry was heaving for breath, tongue tied with only thoughts of how it was excruciatingly painful and wondrously pleasurable. "Hahhh. Y-yes. I- Nghh uh… Ah."

Thomas pushed out, and rammed back in. He stayed still and unmoving. Harry whined, so caught in the haze of pleasure – and began moving his hips, hoping that Thomas would move. "Well?"

"Y-yes."

"You like this?"

"M-more. I want more. Please move."

Harry was half gone now, just the way the demon wanted it.

"Good boy."

Harry moaned like a male prostitute and it only served to add insult to injury. At one point, Thomas raised his ankle to his arm, driving his cock deeper onto Harry. "Oh God." "My name, Harry, say my name." The boy repeated his name like a mantra and called it out when he came. It was beautiful, the sticky fluid against the creamy white robes. By now it was stained with blood and semen. Thomas used the boy until he could reach his completion, the boy was staring at the flickering lights at that point but Thomas didn't care.

Before they knew it – it was over. It was nothing special to agonize over. Harry's thoughts were scattered. He swore he lost his mind back there and he was still wondering where it was.

* * *

The lights were flickering like a dying insect, and the bed was soiled, of blood, of semen, of his dirty clothing – of his tears. The aftermath of his orgasm was – just that, a painful reminder of his lack of common sense. He realized this, after he could feel the sticky feeling of something inside him.

"Are you happy now?"

"Now that you've _fucked_ me, leave."

"I don't want you near me! Get off me! Go away!" Harry said, whining. Thomas was still inside him, and the man dropped his entire weight onto him. Harry glared, tugging at the ropes that had tied him on the bed. "Shut up, Harry. Or do you want another round?"

Harry closed his eyes, counting to ten, before he hyperventilated, and start screaming. A gasp left him when the man pulled out – the squelching sound was disgusting. The feeling of something wet, coming out of his ass was more _disgusting._ Harry grunted, "You came- inside me." Thomas adjusted his clothing, a hand smearing the whitish fluid on Harry's stomach. "You have to take a bath, after this."

"I will- if you untie me." Harry said miserably. "Please." Harry added as an afterthought. To his surprise, Thomas did that. He abruptly pulled Harry onto him, and Harry consented being treated like a rag doll because _damn it_ he was tired.

"I think," the demon paused, and smoothed Harry's sweaty bangs away from his forehead. The child glared at Thomas for the mocking gesture. "The feeling that I feel for you is fondness. I have another desire, which is to eat you alive, but that would mean the loss of your presence. I would _miss_ you very much. I think."

"Fine then tell me." Harry turned his face away and grumbled. "Tell me what you want."

"Oh, but I think you already know. You have given me freedom. And you have my gratitude for that." Harry was wondering. ' _You consider 'this' gratitude?'_

"I only wish to settle the bargain. And you, my dear child, will _assist_ me, for this is your wish I am granting."

* * *

… _pacta sunt servanda_


	3. Descent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scariest thing when taking drugs is the inevitable addiction. Just a little too much and it can kill you.

_Wednesday, November 23, 1994._

He was engrossed in reading about Molecular Orbitals, knowing that Severus Snape would be fairly disappointed if he didn't keep up with his work. The neat stacks of notes lie on one side of his desk, while his ratty Chemistry book was propped up, pages fluttering whenever the air from the fan hit its edges.

His History book however, was nowhere to be found. He was supposed to be reading about the research project, or whatever it was that was assigned to him and Malfoy, _but_ when it came to History, an imaginary voice of their teacher would flow in his head – the droning quality that made everyone fall asleep made it very difficult to read the textbook. So he procrastinated, and settled on his second least favorite subject – Chemistry.

"Harry? Your uncle sent me to tell you that he wanted you in his office."

The door to the attic closed. Harry banged his head on his notebook. He counted to ten and dragged his feet to his shoe-rack, grabbing a pair of slippers. _Breathe._ He prepared himself for another spanking. Castigation for his wretched soul. Not abuse.

His uncle's study was a small five by four meter room. The floor was black marble with dark brown carpeting. The ceiling was flesh colored, and on its center was a small chandelier that resembled a donut with protruding spherical bulbs.

Adjacent to the entrance were two walls. The right wall was lined with a large wooden shelf that contained books, records, magazines and a collection of newspaper issues. On the other wall, there was a decoration table that shouldered a large aquarium housing his uncle's beloved Aruana. Beneath the table was a glass showcase of trophies.

At the middle there were three couches and at the far end, there was a large desk, a man sitting on a chair, and beyond him, a marble cabinet inlaid with several mirrors.

Harry hated mirrors. He also hated the man who was sitting on the chair.

"Well, boy? What are you doing there, standing like an idiot? Sit down."

Harry hastily complied. He wondered why his uncle didn't immediately command him to _lie down and strip._ Then smack him with his paddle or any of the assortments of things he kept in his cabinet.

A blank envelope was tossed to him. "This came with the flowers, and that slimy Malfoy servant told me to give it to you. I checked it, and it was empty. I thought it was just a prank. You told me that the Malfoy brat hated you. When you were asleep, the little bastard called and asked if it would be alright to pick you up this Friday? Well boy?"

Harry's face crumbled, cringing inwardly at what his uncle was thinking of. "Is he your good ol' fuck buddy?"

The suggestion was vile. "No! He's just a classmate."

Harry bit his lower lip, and clenched his right hand. "We're supposed to work on a project in History. Malfoy invited me over this Friday. I was going to tell you that but I f-forgot."

Vernon harrumphed. "You forgot!? Brat, I refuse to have you-"

"I already agreed." Harry cut sharply.

"Why you!"

Vernon stood up. The flat of his palm landed on the desk hard. "How many times do I have to tell you to ask permission before you do something like _this_?"

Harry grumbled. "I knew you wouldn't agree if we worked on the project here, so Malfoy offered to do it at his place."

Vernon sat back down. "No, you will not go. Within reason."

Harry opened the envelope – and glared at the four letters that stood in broad red ink.

_Haha!_

Harry crumpled the note, and swallowed reflexively, "Please, Uncle Vernon. It's just a project!"

Vernon groaned. "Stop whining. You're making my headache worse."

Harry glanced at the mirrors and saw something wrap itself around Vernon's neck. Harry looked down, horrified. The man groaned, and his eyes went glassy and unfocused.

"Uncle Vernon?" Harry asked. Vernon nodded, shaking his head and blinking several times in confusion. "Wait, what did you say?" The voice slurred.

"Will you let me go, this Friday?" Harry enunciated every syllable slowly and Vernon began nodding.

"Fine. You know the rules."

Vernon sighed, and Harry watched as the man poured more and more alcohol on his glass, until the rest spilled. It continued that way until Vernon blinked, and corked the bottle once more. The yellow liquid seemed to disappear in his uncle's mouth in one straight flush.

"If I hadn't paid for your tuition, I'd remove you from that school."

Harry shuffled on his seat. The boy rubbed the raw rope marks on his wrists together and glared at the floor. The man was rambling about how he would have to walk by himself to school now. Not that he cared.

Eventually, Vernon closed his mouth, flicking through the news paper.

The clock behind them ticked noisily – against the quiet of his uncle's study. The man coughed, eyes clearing, and he pointed a finger at Harry's clothes.

"Boy, any of your cuts still bleeding?"

Harry nodded. "The one at my back, sir."

Vernon rubbed a finger on his mustache and lay the newspaper aside.

"I see. There will be visitors today and I won't have you presented in _that_ condition."

Harry's mouth opened, tongue brushing back his lower teeth and the teen fought to control a grin and the spiteful comments that spurred out of his mouth. _So that's why._

"I've sent for the doctor to pick you up. Crouch said he would arrive within an hour."

By Crouch, he meant the younger Crouch, Barty, the son of the Mayor. Harry had been Barty Crouch's patient for several years. Harry was introduced to the man while he was suffering from chicken pox when he was eight. So far, Barty was the only person who was able to stomach the atrocities done to him by his relatives and he also kept his mouth shut.

Harry had no idea what happened to his other doctors but he was pretty sure the unlucky few were maimed and taken out of business.

Barty's role was to repair him. There's no other word that could sum up the doctor's purpose in his life. The man took care of his physical and mental injuries. He was also a friend. Harry didn't know whether or not he would be up and standing right at that very moment if not for the man's continued efforts.

"Take off your shirt and turn around. I want to see your back."

Harry winced, lifting the shirt. The leather squished noisily when he shifted and Vernon grunted on his chair. "I said turn around."

"Yes uncle Vernon."

The man was amused. He was looking at Harry's back as if it were an art form.

Harry ground his teeth together when he was fully turned away. He was kneeling on the chair, his bloodied shirt discarded to the side, and taking off the bandages. He wished he could gouge his uncle's eyes. His cuts were sore and he was feeling very queasy about being in the same room of the person who caused it. And his ass hurt. It made it painful to just sit, painful to sit in one spot too long – and even more painful to move.

A finger began tracing the multiple cuts on his back, and Harry whimpered. He leaned on the edge of the couch as the pudgy fingers prodded his back. "Serves you right, you nasty piece of shit."

' _Fuck you!'_

He was backhanded. His glasses landed on the floor and Harry was momentarily dizzy, rubbing his back. When he saw Vernon retreating to his chair, Harry hastily took his shirt and put it back on – trembling hands taking his soiled bandages and tucking them on the pocket of his shorts. Last, he retrieved his glasses, pushing one lens back into position.

"May I leave?"

Vernon threw a pen on his direction. "Stay here until your doctor arrives, and be quiet."

While Harry sat on the leather couch praying to whatever god he was led to believe in, his uncle began to work. The ring on his finger tapped against the telephone, a finger turning on the dial, calling members of his company – Grunnings.

The rest of the noise was ignored, while Harry resolved to calm himself down. He knew he had blood on the couch by now, and he was thankful that by the time Vernon realized he _dirtied_ it, he would be gone.

Minutes later, a knock came from the doors, "Sir, the guest has arrived. Mr. Crouch is waiting at the patio."

Vernon stood up, and told Harry to do the same. Petunia accompanied them when she heard that the Mayor's son was there. She opened the front doors of the house, and standing before them was Harry's Doctor. He looked like a man in his mid-twenties, wearing a white coat – black slacks, not a hair out of place, carrying himself in a confident air. It seemed the man had just finished his hospital duties. Nevertheless, Bartemius Crouch looked as pristine as ever, his smile – tight and controlled as he greeted Vernon and Petunia Dursley with familiarity.

He resembled his father a lot.

"Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, I'm sorry about your son. He was a good kid."

The man turned to Harry, briefly, ruffling the teen's hair while he exchanged pleasantries with the Dursleys. "I'm afraid I only have little time today, so I'll take my leave." The man waved goodbye, Harry on one arm heading for his car.

Before he unlocked the doors of his black Cadillac, the doctor gave Harry a meaningful stare. Harry withered before it.

"Are you alright, Harry?"

Harry gave a half-hearted smile. "What do you think?"

The engine purred, and soon enough, Harry was strapped on the car-seat with a bored expression.

Harry smiled when the Dursley Mansion disappeared from view. They passed several houses in the village and soon, they were out in the highway. Autumn at this point in time, was usually chilly, but the afternoon sun was warm.

The windows were kept open because Harry preferred it so. The sun turned the pavement into a shimmering blob of light, against the dark canopy of the tall trees. Harry's eyes often closed but he found it beautiful so he kept staring at it.

A hand turned on the cassette, and soon enough, Harry could hear the cassette playing a classic piano piece, Tristesse by Chopin.

"How was work?" Harry began, and poked his head out of the window. A hand pulled the scruff of his shirt lightly.

"Don't do that, you could lose your head." Harry pretended to look guilty and Barty murmured something about _insufferable brats._ "As for my work, it was fine, and tiring. I will not bore you with the details."

Harry rubbed the pad of the car seat then he began to take in the man's appearance. The sun's rays hit his doctor's golden brown hair. It reminded him of the way Malfoy used to wear his own hair, combed back and pumped with lots of gel.

His doctor also had pale white skin. It looked unhealthy. He doubted Barty was healthy. The man hardly left the hospital, and Harry knew it was what caused the complexion. He was a workaholic. His eyes had dark rings under it – that proved how much sleep he was getting. His right hand had a long scar that never ceased to fascinate Harry. He said it was from a mistake in handling the scalpel.

Those imperfections didn't lessen the fact that his doctor was handsome.

Harry felt something press around him, cutting off his breathing, and he turned away.

"You're not feeling well."

Harry gasped, feeling light-headed. "Obviously." The sensation passed, and left Harry feeling drained.

"You can adjust the seat and lie down if you want to. I don't care if you get it dirty. Just rest, okay?"

Harry reached for the handle, and pulled upwards. Harry leaned back, dragging the back rest into a reclining position. The boy closed his eyes. It was not hard to fall asleep – with the warm wind, and the smooth ride, the drifting melody. Harry could not fight the growing fatigue and soon enough, was dozing off.

The doctor smiled, seeing the child succumb to sleep. He drove leisurely – careful not to jostle the child's injuries.

The car took a turn from the fork that separated Great Hangelton from Little Hangelton. From there, it was a fifteen minute drive to the Doctor's house.

* * *

Harry stretched, and yawned, blinking away the sleep when he felt the smooth pavement turn to gravel. He could hear the way the rocks skidded against each other, and the rush of the water coming from a nearby stream. His eyes opened to see the car slowly cross the wooden bridge that led to the house where his doctor was currently living in.

It was simple in structure, and if anyone were to describe it – it was a cube with several holes for windows and doors. It was a glaring white block, partially hidden by the tall trees, nestled in a small clearing between a boulder and a stream. A simple wooden fence stretched around the house – and a gravel of rocks spread across the clearing. At the left of the house, there was a small elevated tiled platform covered by an arbor which served as the parking space for the doctor's much cared for automobile.

"We're here." Barty said, and Harry stirred from his seat. Another yawn came out of his mouth and he pushed himself to sit up, pulling on the recliner's handle and placing it back into position.

They entered the otherwise empty looking house and Harry took off his shoes – and socks. Jugson was there, a blonde haired woman who was Barty's girlfriend. He greeted the girl, who was busy in the laundry room. They passed the hallway and Barty took off his coat, loosening his tie and headed upstairs.

Harry tried to avoid looking at the several mirrors that lined the room. Harry hated mirrors. Not because Harry thought he was unattractive, far from that. He hated them because of what they show him – the demon. It was bad enough that he could feel the snake like presence that was wrapped around him but seeing things in the mirror – a person that shouldn't be there was starting to freak him out.

The voice called out to Harry, "Make yourself comfortable. You can watch the television while I prepare the room."

Harry nodded, and headed for the living room. Harry sat on the carpet, his head on the couch, propped up by pillows while he stretched his legs, sighing to himself. His right hand took the remote and pressed the power button. Black fizzled, and red bled to form other colors. Harry began flicking past the channels obsessively – until he settled in watching a movie.

He didn't catch the title but he was pretty sure it was Beetlejuice. The main antagonist reminded him so much of clowns. The movie was funny enough to reduce the world into him, the movie, and the popcorn – a sudden tunnel vision. He was already at the part where the clown had to marry the girl when a voice from above called for him.

He came to a stop before a familiar room, and sighed when he felt the hand on his shoulder, ushering him inside. Not much has changed, and Harry mourned at his growing trauma of the color white. He associated it with pain. Several times in the span of his life, he would wake up, staring up at an unfamiliar white ceiling and the equally white walls.

"What happened this time?"

Harry shuffled from one foot to another. He settled for leaning on the wall, staring at the floor, unable to meet piercing gaze. "He got depressed over Dudley's death and took his frustrations out on me. Then, the usual."

Barty nodded. He sat on one chair opposite to the table, and took out a folder – where several blank pieces of paper were clipped. His pen made a soft click and the man was suddenly engrossed in writing. Harry learned that he was more comfortable without the man's obvious attention on him.

"Continue. Describe it in detail."

Harry frowned, and bit the inside of his cheek. "It happened last Monday, see."

Barty's pen wrote swiftly across the paper. The words are almost unintelligible. Harry continued, "I don't remember doing anything – or even riding home. I was at school one moment, and the next, I was lying on the desk of my uncle's study. When I woke up, he started asking questions. I didn't know what I've done wrong until he told me that Dudley was dead, and it was apparently my fault."

Harry paused. Barty ripped off the paper and tucked it on one folder.

"By the way, your school nurse informed me of what happened that afternoon. The reason why you're unable to remember anything was due to a panic attack, when you were at school. Do you remember that?"

The man asked, and he began dragging the tip of his pen against another paper.

"I'm wondering what set you off. Would you care to tell me?"

Harry thought long and hard, and finally replied "I don't know. A lot of things happened that day."

"Like?"

Harry didn't know why everyone was hell bent in figuring him out. "None of your business."

The doctor sighed. Harry shifted his weight from one foot to another. He really hated being asked questions that pertained to his psyche. It was not that he was scared of the reaction that would come out when he tells everyone he's slightly unstable. No, he was just tired of all the other questions that would be sure to follow. When he admits one particular thing, they would all get curious and hound him, which is the most likely possibility if he tells the truth…

Harry couldn't imagine Barty's reaction if he suddenly tells him the truth. He imagined himself, telling his doctor the embarrassing tale of him, kissing Malfoy Draco _of all people_ in front of Cho, his girlfriend, -and the fact that there was a demon after his soul. _And his apparent confusion about his own sexuality_. And. Sex.

…

No. He would lie through his teeth if anyone asked him of the truth. He was just coming to terms to it himself. Besides, he didn't think any normal human being would believe him even if it was true.

When the doctor realized he wouldn't be getting any reaction from his patient, he started maneuvering the conversation to a different matter.

"Pomfrey sent me your blood samples. We found nothing that might induce hallucinations. I find it difficult to imagine how, traumatic the event was – to induce that kind of reaction from you. If you do not want to tell me, I will respect that, but as your doctor, as a friend, I deserve the right to know, and I will find out."

"Oh." Harry didn't know what to say. He asked lamely, "You got blood samples?" He checked his fingers and nodded absently at the small almost unnoticeable dot on the middle finger of his left hand.

"Harry, did any of your classmates harass you?" The soft voice attempted to lure him to the safety net that he associated with Barty. Harry reminded himself that he couldn't trust the man.

So there was an adamant shake of a head.

"No harm will be done if you admit it." The doctor said, softly.

"No. Just. Let it go. I said _it's NONE of your damned business_!"

A long moment passed, and Barty coughed, pretending that he didn't hear the outburst. Harry was breathing hard, trying to steady his heartbeat.

"Very well, continue recounting the events of last Monday."

Harry glared at his shoes. The hum of the air conditioner was loud in his ears. After a moment, Harry pressed a hand to his forehead, and asked, "Where was I?"

"Harry," The voice warned. "You woke up in your uncle's study. What happened next?"

Harry cringed, remembering the growling voice that accused him several times of his involvement with Dudley's gang – how they got the stash of drugs and how it was utterly stupid of Harry not to stop them.

"You know what usually happens." Harry's voice came, low and hollowed.

"Would you please, cooperate with me?" Barty asked in an earnest voice, but underneath the pleasant tone, there was a hidden veil of threat.

"Okay. Just. Bah. He had me flat on his desk. Then he hit me with a plastic ruler – then his belt – his cane, kicked me then carved… I think he carved something on my back. I-I passed out. When I woke up, I saw him tying me to my bed. The same thing happened last Tuesday. Maybe, He'll do it again."

Harry groaned. Forcing him to say those words made everything uglier, more real, that it actually happened, and he was revisiting it in his mind. How could his uncle do that to him? Whatever did he ever do to the man to deserve that anger?

"In detail, Harry."

The boy's heartbeat skipped.

"No."

The writing stopped, and the doctor pinched the bridge of his nose. Harry seeing this, reacted violently, "Don't force me to say e-ve-ry fucking detail, you sick fucking bastard. God!"

Something snapped. It echoed in the sound proof walls of the room. Barty bent down to take the remains of his plastic pen, and placed it on the desk. He took another one from the drawer and began scribbling on the paper.

"I will pretend that I did not hear _that."_ Barty smiled, the edges of his lips not reaching his eyes. "I will let you off for now, but later we will talk about what happened and you will tell me everything." Then, after a short pause, the doctor pulled out a medical file from one of the cabinets. He took a check list and placed it on the neat stack of papers on the desk.

Harry felt guilty all of a sudden. He hated nosy people. Barty knows that but why can't he see that he was uncomfortable with the idea. It reminded him of the time when he was a kid, when he thought that it was his fault that he was being punished. He could remember the guilt of being born a nuisance and the numerous excuses he used to shy away from the fact that his own relatives hated him. When all he wanted was a working family… To be accepted.

Without any intonation, the doctor asked, "Have you taken a bath this morning?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Barty ruffled Harry's unmanageable hair and with a weary voice, he ordered the child to "strip."

Harry obediently did as told. When the last article of clothing was removed, Harry felt the man eye him from head to toe. He was observed with a critical eye and Harry tried his best not to fidget. His body was a myriad of colors: most were blue and yellow and red. Some his bruises were swelling, some healing – but the skin of his back was torn – and his buttocks can't be called a pretty sight.

"Does it hurt?"

"Very much." Came the exasperated reply.

Barty stood up and guided him to lean against the table. "Where does it hurt most?" The doctor asked.

"My back, and my a-ass." Harry responded, finding it very difficult to speak out.

The doctor touched his shoulder gently. Harry was turned around and made to lean against the table. His legs were parted by a hand, and Harry felt very humiliated when it parted his butt cheeks. "Were you raped?"

"Wha- Excuse me?" Harry spluttered. Harry didn't understand how the man could figure it out.

"Did your uncle, force you in any form of sexual activity?" There question was rephrased, but the shock was still there in Harry's system.

Harry shook his head in a violent no. The idea that Vernon would do such a thing was preposterous.

"Then why is there blood on your anus?" Harry bit his lip. " _Constipation_. I dunno. You tell me."

Barty laughed. "Right." It came out as a long drawl, and Harry almost groaned in despair.

"Well, I didn't bring you here just to stare at you." Harry breathed easier when Barty pulled his hand back. The air felt warmer, and Harry found that his hands were sweating. Crouch smiled. "Before we start, here are some pain killers. The plastic cups are in one of those cabinets." The man pointed at the semi transparent cabinets on top of a built in tiled shelf. "You know where the water dispenser is."

Harry sighed, and took the packet from the man's offered hand and walked towards the white curtains disappearing from view. He came back and threw the plastic cup and the medicine wrapper in the trashcan.

Barty took him by the arm and made him sit on the table. The man felt for his bones and began saying what would have happened if his uncle didn't have the presence of mind to know his limits. Harry still couldn't understand why Barty took everything in stride, as if his abuse was no different than a change in weather. "It's surprising you didn't get a bone fracture. At least Vernon knows not to make a repeat of last year's incident. It's rather costly."

Harry knew it. It was payback. He would never say he was sorry for calling the man names but this was harassment. "It's still painful. I don't understand why he even bothers to send me to you." Harry snapped back.

Barty poked his forehead. "Your uncle doesn't want you to die. He just wants you to suffer."

Harry couldn't say anything against that. His doctor was a failure in life, and so was he.

"He hates you, brat. We've gone over this before. His hate is unfounded, together with his actions – and even if he knows it's not proper – he will continue to do it because it's already become a habit." A pause. "More like a vice." Harry retorted.

The child in Harry cried at the unfairness of it all. He also wondered on whose side Barty belonged to. Maybe it was just the _money_. Money makes the world go round. He should have known. He began biting his lower lip and Barty ignored the child knowing Harry was having one of his inner dilemmas.

Eventually, the tension in the air lessened. Harry resolved that he was no better than his uncle if he vented out his stress on other people. Barty may not be innocent and faultless with all his suffering, but Harry knew the man was trying to sincerely help him.

The hum of the air-conditioner was a pleasant buzz while the adept fingers started cleaning the cuts. Disinfecting it wasn't as painful as one would imagine – but the pain was still there. Harry soon felt the familiar sensation of a mild sting, and his eyes lit up with slight interest as cuts bubbled when introduced to hydrogen peroxide. Then the sheen of yellow followed next. A cotton swab coated everything with the sickly yellow color, held by a medical pincher.

Time passed and within half an hour, Harry thought he resembled a mummy.

"Be careful in removing this. Make sure not to pull too harshly when you have to change it." The man said, while passing his finger on Harry's left arm.

"I know." Harry mumbled. Of course he knew that. He also knew how to bandage himself properly.

"I never really got the chance to look at it, but what did he carve at my back?"

Barty ran the cotton through the cut, and Harry winced. "Well, your uncle wasn't very creative. It says slut, right here." The man lightly tapped the hollow on the middle of Harry's upper back. "On this side, he carved whore," he pointed at Harry's middle back, "and near your buttocks – he wrote freak."

"Oh." Harry inhaled a long breath then hissed a sigh. "Will they scar?"

"It will fade in time."

Harry nodded, and pressed his cheek flat on the soft padding of the table. The sterile white of the room was downy, and Harry was half asleep at the effect of the pain-killers and drugs introduced to his system.

Bartemius, if anything, was thorough with his work. He told Harry that next week, when and if his schedule wouldn't be akin to a pus-filled boil, very red and agitated, itching to pop, _that was a very big_ IF, He, being the meticulous creature that he was, would conduct a full body check-up that required other medical equipment that was not present in his house.

They proceeded with routine, a brief physical examination, " _I will omit some steps from the regular A-check up, since I still have one from two-weeks ago, so there is no need to prolong the entire process,_ " sample collection, " _Urine and blood_ ," and finally the last exam addressed the first problem that Barty spied on Harry, the rectal exam.

"Did you have anal-sex with anyone within the past 24-hours?" Barty said, while he applied a lubricant on his right index finger. It was smeared on the gloves and Harry tilted his head in curiosity.

He took time to think of way to answer, and rephrase the crass question he'd like his doctor to answer. "No. Why do you insist that I had sex with someone?" It was better than using the term _rape_ , Harry said. Barty was quick to enumerate, "Bruises on your hips, love bites among other things."

Harry huffed. "What's it to you?" Barty poked his anus. "I hope you are intelligent enough to make sure your partners are clear of any diseases."

Harry grumbled. The finger came in smoothly, and a brief memory entered his mind. Of how the texture was definitely different and how it entered smoothly as compared to using saliva. And how _cold_ it was.

"Harry. You've been my patient for five years, and I believe that the time we shared would amount to some sort of trust between us." The finger palpated and felt against his prostrate. Harry groaned, feeling his phallus twitch to life.

"So?"

"Last Monday. And I'm sure whatever it was that entered my ass didn't have any diseases." Harry said very quietly. He cursed his doctor's finger.

"Right. _Monday._ And, true. I ruled out the possibility that it could have been a girl, with a dildo, or a boy. Or did you do it yourself? Am I right to assume that this happened before your uncle beat you up?"

Harry was aghast at the quick forming possibilities.

"Before."

"Steady now. Since you don't have a fever, bleeding at that spot would be an indication of hemorrhoids, a fissure, or cancer. Well, let's just hope it's not too serious. Relax."

The finger twisted clockwise and counter-clockwise. The next procedure involved the use of an anoscope. Shortly after, it was done.

"You said you suffered from constipation. Or is that false? Before I check it myself, I'll have to empty your colon, so I hope you won't be against the use of enema."

Barty opened the large cabinet and checked several boxes. He retrieved a small plastic package and opened it. "This will only take awhile."

When the process was done, Barty introduced a long metal tube that had a handle and had a removable cylindrical tube in the middle, similar to the anoscope. It had a bulb that could be used to pump gas inside – and Harry felt incredulous that the "10-inch tube will enter your anus to check your rectal cavity – and the parts of your anal canal that I may have missed."

The same finger stretched his entrance to prevent any obstruction when the tube that his doctor called a proctoscope enters him. Harry watched carefully – as the same fingers applied a lubricant to the probe, and braced himself for the metal object to enter his anus.

"Relax. It'll make this easier."

Harry wondered why he didn't ask his uncle to fire the man. If he didn't know the man for several years already, he would say the man was sexually harassing him.

Harassment or not, the man made him blush and he grumbled a flustered, "Just get on with it _doctor_."

"This is a standard medical procedure. I am not doing this for my own amusement."

The tip entered him slowly. Having cold metal up his track was a weird feeling – and he tensed, remembering Thomas. He was embarrassed to feel his phallus harden. _Was it supposed to feel good?_ Harry found himself thinking. He vowed that these medical procedures should be illegal. Maybe they were.

"-And, this is a natural reaction. There is no need to be ashamed with it."

An involuntary gasp escaped his mouth as he the man pushed the probe further.

The whole procedure took a long time, for Harry. He watched the clock as it turned from 1:46 to 2:11 pm.

"Done." Harry blinked, and asked, "Really?"

The man retracted the thing.

"Thank god."

"No need to thank him. Thank me instead." Barty said, as he placed the proctoscope on a tray together with his gloves then washed his hands.

"So. What do I have there?"

"It seems you have a cut – it's a small fissure – not an ulcer. It will heal itself in time, but to help it, I have this ointment. You can wash off in the lavatory. Use the bidet."

There was a muffled sound from the room, and the voice came through, very cheerful in informing him, "I'll prepare a rich-fiber diet for you, and I'll hand it over to your uncle myself."

The next procedure was the application of lidocaine ointment that would help with his anal fissure. Harry was ready to shout obscenities as Barty had another excuse to put a finger up his ass.

Harry was very silent once the whole procedure was done, and he couldn't bring himself to look at his Doctor the same way. Before, he would have been unaware of these advances, but after having been educated with what it was, Harry found he couldn't ignore it. Or perhaps he was just imagining things. Barty had Jugson. Those were simple standard medical procedures, and he was made aware that men regularly had to undergo it as they age.

It would be entirely too childish of him to accuse his doctor that it was a form of _sexual harassment._

"By the way, you would have to apply the ointment yourself when I'm not there."

Harry was at the end of his wits. Did the man have a hidden obsession of pissing him off? Because right now, he was just, mad.

"What do you take me for, a child?"

The man sighed, and poked Harry's forehead. "To me, you will always be that sniveling nine-year old brat, and even now, you look like a child. So thin. Very short. Eat up will you?"

Harry flinched, and threw one of the syringes on the man. "I hate you!" But Harry knew he could do no harm to the man when he was naked, groggy, semi-mummified, and hungrier than he could have ever remembered. His stomach rumbled in protest at his action and he slumped on the table.

"Of course you do. I'm a naturally mean person and I enjoy making you angry, so it's alright to get mad at me. Cheer up, brat. If you're worried about your injuries – we both know they'll heal in time."

Harry shakily nodded.

"Here are your clothes. Petunia was thoughtful enough to give them to me before we left. I also have your favorite dish served downstairs. Come quick so the food won't cool down."

Harry glared at the man – and glared at the mirrors and glared at his shoes, a fierce blush on his cheeks while he watched the man leave the white room.

Lunch was typical, with his preferred tea, Earl Grey, vegetable salad, chips and fries with an assortment gravy, cheese and buttered-garlic sauce. Then Jugson served them vanilla icecream.

It more than made up for his ruined mood.

While eating however, Barty proceeded to question him of his home life, and school life – that which Harry answered between mouthfuls, table manners be damned. In the midst of eating, Harry was wondering why so much was being done for him when all the doctor was being paid for was to make sure Harry was alive and his silence.

He thanked Jugson for the wonderful meal and his doctor's thoughtfulness of serving him his _favorite_ meal. Hah. One thing that the doctor wasn't still sure of was Harry's preference of food.

Before they left the house and settled back inside Barty's black Cadillac, the man held the door closed.

"You're not telling me everything. I find it odd that the moment your cousin had that incident, you had a sufficient alibi – a panic attack. I know you can fake that, and I want you tell me the truth."

Harry visibly froze. "Are you suggesting that I had something to do with my cousin's death?"

"I might be. If you know anything about it, then you should tell me now. What's stopping me to give your uncle further proof of your involvement?" The man asked, in a whisper.

With no moment of hesitation, Harry said, "You wouldn't dare."

"Of course not, if you give me what I want." Bartemius smirked.

Harry pushed the man off him grumbled to himself. "I don't know what you're talking about. Just get me home."

" _Home_ , huh."

Harry paused, his mind racing. He really couldn't understand his doctor.

"What are you planning? What do you get out of this?"

"It's a secret."

"Tell me." Harry insisted.

"It won't be a secret if I tell you, cheeky brat." Then, the man blinked, and laughed to himself.

"I don't appreciate nosy people, even if it is you, Doctor."

"Barty, I have a name, brat. Call me Barty." The man almost whined.

"Never. You will always be _doctor_ to me as long as you treat me like a child." Harry pouted then quickly schooled his face into a frown, hoping that his pout went unseen.

"Well, you are one, and you aren't doing a very good job in convincing me not to treat you like an adult when you always act so immaturely."

Barty placed his right hand atop his hair and gave an affectionate ruffle on his otherwise untamable hair. Its severely tousled appearance gave the impression that Harry just woke up from bed. When the _petting_ became unbearable, Harry ducked away, and opened the door.

The child nearly stumbled at the bright sunlight passing through his glasses, making him squint several times.

Barty grinned, led Harry by the hand, and soon enough, had the brat strapped on the seat of his car. The car keys sent the engine to a purr.

The ride towards the Dursley Mansion was a silent affair.

Once there, a maid rushed to open the gates. Harry's stuff was carried away – the first aid kit, and the black plastic sealing bag that held Harry's dirty clothes.

The visitors were already there. Some were in the patio, and they raised their eyebrows at Harry, who was accompanied by the illustrious son of their mayor. They wrinkled their nose at the bandages poking through the long-sleeves and shied away from the ' _Trouble Child_ '.

The mahogany sliding doors were kept open and right at the middle of the receiving room, Harry could see Dudley's coffin. Several flowers surrounded the box – several men and women, conversing in a manner that would grate on anyone's nerves. He wondered if what he was seeing was a good example of _mourning_. He almost felt sorry for his cousin, because from what he could see, the event was no different from a social gathering.

"Harry, finished your appointment with the doctor already?" Vernon's voice came, a gruff condescending tone, as he bundled from one end of the room to greet him and his doctor.

Arthur Weasley was there, and whispered to Harry's ear, "Ron would be pleased to see you're alright." Vernon fumed, and took Arthur's hand off the child.

"My nephew's really clumsy, and as a result, he often gets injured. Worthless brat. You shouldn't worry over him, Arthur."

Harry glanced at his friend's father, and then Vernon. "Sir, please tell Ron not to worry about me."

Vernon huffed and dragged Harry off.

Petunia took Barty's shoulder and led him to the dining area, while Vernon cornered Harry to a hidden alcove, then began berating him.

"You will sit on the couch – nice and pretty. Not a word from what happened last night – or anything for that matter." Vernon's fingernails dug on Harry's shoulder. "Understand?"

"Yes uncle Vernon."

"Good."

* * *

A stray ray of light burned past his eyelids. At once his eyes flickered open, a groan of complaint on his lips.

He just had to fall asleep with his glasses didn't he? It was a good thing that it didn't break, because it was a gift from Ron and Hermione. A lazy eye flickered to the wall where a clock was hung. Harry's countenance turned sour and a he held a hand over his eyes.

"Ugh."

He was late for school. If he did make it, it would seem like he skipped Chemistry and Physical Education. It was also very sad that around this hour, his relatives were eating at the dining table. He dreaded it already, the dining table. He began blinking, then a yawn left his mouth. He didn't know that it was possible for him to sleep this late.

His uniform was propped on his dresser, hanging by the handle – perhaps brought by one of the maids who were thoughtful enough not to wake him up. _Or thoughtless rather. They knew how much he hated not coming to school on time._

The blue sky peered from beyond his window. Scarce clouds lined the edge of his vision, cheerful dashes of cotton fanning out beyond the valley of Little Hangelton. The wind was humid, with pleasant smell of fresh autumn and _rain_? He noticed the wet splotches on the window and thought that it might have rained last night. It was the beginning of a great day and Harry found that he hated that.

He turned over, burying his head on the pillow. The heat of the sun's rays burned the back of his neck and Harry was aware that a slight sheen of sweat formed.

It was only natural that he woke up. Waking up was strange, and rather unwelcome. He wondered what would happen if he just continued to sleep – for well – _forever_. He rolled again, now his back was against his sweaty beds sheets, and sighed.

For a moment, he only stared at the irritating sky, and his irritating ceiling, and his irritating room. He continued to lie on his bed, waiting for his mind to connect with his body or for his mind to grow accustomed to the pain his body was feeling so that he could actually process his thoughts _face the day_ and perhaps, start _moving._ For painkillers, for his schoolbag, and yes, to take a bath.

Harry stretched, then raised both his hands to his face and began inspecting his wrists – then the bandages covering his body.

He could faintly remember the conversation that followed that night, two days ago. The enormity of his foolishness did not escape him. Thomas had no reason to lie to him, and Harry believed everything else that came out from the mouth. When it came down to it, the full enormity of the deal had not reached him yet.

_"You remember the words, I asked you that night. I asked you if you would concede to death, to prove my existence, and you were hasty to answer yes, offering me freedom, and your soul."_

His soul? Why would anyone want his soul? Why not kill him now that he's already proven that his existence was real? Or was there any lingering doubt in Harry. That maybe some part in him still could not believe that Thomas was a Demon and that there were other Demons existing.

The cogs of his mind turned and it toppled back in forth against each other. It was unfair that this was only happening to him and none of his peers ever had to experience this madness.

Today – marked the eighteenth day of the curse.

" _I will continue to starve for your soul until the time comes that I would be forced to devour it. This hunger is insatiable but if you let me have your body-"_

However, there was no telling what would satisfy his demon. Even now, Harry thought that he was just hallucinating, but there was a glaring truth to what the demon said.

Thomas was an invisible presence that stalked him constantly at day. He was there but he was not there. If Harry concentrated enough, he could feel it – the soft touches that glided over his skin. The sensation was similar to the feel of an underside of a serpent's belly. It was smooth, and like a serpent, it was tightening – coiling – halting his movements, whenever it wanted to.

"Good morning." It was a whisper that rose from his lips, unbidden. Immediately the lethargy that accompanied upon waking up lifted. He could see things clearer, and breathe a lot easier. It took away the growing numbness on his body that forced him to stay in bed.

The shadows in his room flocked towards him as a greeting.

_"You would be surprised that several of those who believe in God – are mere puppets who were led to believe their sacrifices signified their faith and devotion to a holy being. Why else would a god need sacrifices? Believe me. Men only use religion as an excuse for their measly confidence. There is no god, no messiah, nothing. If there was a god, Harry you should pray for your soul to be saved and maybe you might be saved. Who knows? But we both know that's not true._

_"I did not appear to preach to you about your silly beliefs on Jesus Christ and his eternal holiness, however – and since you asked very nicely, I will tell you a way- to make this painless."_

Harry bit his lip in deep thought. He wondered how he would proceed with his life from now on. Thomas told him it has already started. The feeling of something heavy and suffocating crowding about him, and stealing his breath, his awareness, his mind. The feeling will worsen until he himself would beg for an end.

Thomas suggested that he should become his puppet. If he followed Thomas like a good boy, he would be rewarded with his revenge – a painless death. _That was the bargain._ Events would unfold like a preordained plan- his life righted without any effort on his part – except his acquiescence. If he followed obediently, there would be no pain. His revenge will be extracted with no intervention, be it divine or whatsoever. He would not even have to dirty his hands. They will all suffer, and when the time came for payment, Harry would hand over his soul.

It was perfect, a pathetic ending for a pathetic life.

He did not want that. He did not care if Thomas said it was better for Harry not to prolong the bargain. He would force himself to do what it takes to get through this in one piece.

His eye wearily glanced at the clock, watching it tick.

He really dreaded coming to class today.

Harry stood up. He massaged his forehead and walked towards his study table and began arranging his books and notebooks. A small sardonic smile was on his features. His life was taking a turn for the worst and here he was, worrying about his glasses, and school.

The principal had already informed him that he may not be able to make it in the Dean's List. He might even be expelled.

Ron and Hermione were worried sick. He had no means of contacting them, missing all the phone calls and unable to call back to inform them he was alright.

Those two would jump at the first opportunity to question him. For other people to find out about his home life – was a big embarrassment. He did not want their sympathy or pity, especially when all they could offer were the comfort of words. Several people promised that they would save them, but no one actually showed up. No one would be able to take him away, and that was the end of the story. Besides, he did not want the ridicule that would be sure to follow.

Speaking of ridicule, he wondered if the news that he was _gay_ already spread. His hurt for the break-up with Cho couldn't compare to his fear for what his rival did, and of course - _Thomas._ It was all too sudden – and he would give anything to return things back to the way they were before.

If Barty had not told him he was taken in the infirmary – he would have no idea what happened back then. He was also wary of what the doctor was planning. He had a feeling that it had something to do with the identity of his doctor's father and Petunia.

The thing was, he didn't know what to do if Barty decided to turn on him. The man was unpredictable, and even if he knew Barty for five years, he still couldn't fully trust his doctor. It was the man's fault. Harry was guilty of the crime that his doctor accused him of doing, but that did not mean that the Doctor had the right to point his finger on him.

It was true that he had the perfect alibi. The question was why did Barty accuse him? How could he have known? How would he or anyone prove his involvement with the incident in the first place? His cousin's death was an accident. Right…? Harry thought he was just paranoid.

In a way he hated that Dudley died without ever having tasted his revenge. If he could only make another bargain with the devil, he would ask for Dudley to be brought before him.

His eye widened as his shadow tightened. It seemed to wrap around him, like a snake, slithering, coiling around his wind pipe. It was an unwanted presence that sucked on his energy. Harry trembled, feeling the fatigue while the shadow danced on him. It came to stop on his right eye, blinding it. His breathing turned shallow.

" _Stop."_

The possessive hold did not recede, and it took time to grow accustomed to it. Harry didn't know what Thomas wanted now. He wasn't doing anything wrong, was he?

"Let go of me, damn you."

Harry gasped when he was engulfed in a sudden darkness. Sensation left him, the sounds, taste, even touch. It was all gone.

It was a familiar sensation, and now that he had the presence of mind to experience it, Harry was scared.

It was an eternity until he could feel the coils loosening around him, and he stumbled on his desk, gripping the wood, and blinking several times to be certain that his sight came back to him.

Malfoy was right when he said that it _would_ kill him soon.

A stray hand combed through his hair and he shivered at the heavy feeling of a stranger's fingers passing through the strands. He could not see it – but he knew it was there.

The age old mirror of his dresser allowed him to see the faint outline of the body that held him in a possessive embrace. He could see how the hair wrapped around his body, and the blood red eyes that seemed to suck on his vision. The longer he stared at it – the more life-like the fingers felt, the more his knees weakened as he leaned against the air – how he saw his own mouth parted when a tongue entered and _that_ made Harry close his eyes in panic. He looked away from the mirror, his mouth suddenly dry at the thought – of what Thomas could do to him – like this.

He was too vulnerable.

Harry vowed to avoid staring at mirrors if he could help it. He wished he was the only person who knew of his predicament but _Malfoy-_ Harry was curious about Draco – and how he was able to see Thomas when Harry himself couldn't see him. In this form, Thomas could not speak to him, yet Draco showed that he could converse with Tom even at day time.

He would simply have to find out later. He made up his mind. He would go to school today and have Vernon sign the excuse letter for his lateness and absences for the umpteenth time.

He was afraid, but he was also curious, about how all this was supposed to work.

A hand opened his cabinet and he haphazardly took his medical kit, his underwear and towel. He took the uniform on his bed and – headed for bath.

Yesterday was tiring. The visitors looked at him as if he were trash, and he was forced to lie about how _thankful he was that the Dursleys were taking care of him_ and how _wonderful Dudley was_ and why he thought _Dudley didn't deserve to die_. There were even reporters who came to interview his uncle. Trust Vernon to have enough power to make his son's death some sort of publicity for him.

He finished taking a bath, and stopped his ongoing musings opting to concentrate on the task of reapplying the disinfectants and ointments. He expertly began wrapping his back and shoulder blades with bandages. He took care not to make them too tight, but tight enough to prevent more bleeding.

Downstairs, he saw the eight person dining table filled in two spots. There was Vernon on the head table – and opposite him was Petunia. They acted as if they had not noticed his presence. Vernon was chugging his orange juice with no sense of decorum while Petunia was the perfect opposite – refined, taking time to savor every bite.

Beyond the dining table was the large picture frame of the three person family – Dudley at the middle, smiling broadly – he was six years old.

If anyone were to look at the mansion, they would find no pictures of Harry – no proof that he lived there except the room in the attic.

He pulled his chair away and watched Vernon and Petunia from beneath his lashes. His chair scraped against the marble floor, and soon enough, he was motioning for the food.

The maid was by his side at once, asking if he wanted orange juice, and Harry shook his head. "I would like water."

Harry attempted to ignore how the utensils clashed heavily on the dining plate. Harry discretely observed Vernon and Petunia, both of them had been crying, their eyes puffy and red. His uncle was suffering from another hang-over. Petunia's hair was in a perfect state of disarray – and Vernon's clothes were ruffled.

There was a scratch on Vernon's cheek, while there was a bluish tinge on his aunt's shoulder. _A fight._

They had only stopped to eat but Harry could perfectly imagine what they were doing before they took their respective seats on the dining table.

This was why he vowed never to start his breakfast late – especially now that Vernon and Petunia were at odds with each other.

"How are your injuries, boy?"

The gruff voice asked. Harry bowed his head meekly.

"They're fine, uncle Vernon." Harry lied.

Petunia stared at Harry, her eyes widened, pupils dilated. The hand gripping her spoon tightened and it shook even as she held it. It was laughable at how her betrayed expression looked back and forth between Vernon and him – and then he remembered the Doctor. _That meddling old man._

People like him would learn what would happen if they messed with the Dursleys. He had a very strong inkling that the Doctor would soon be out of service.

"What?" said the garbled voice from the opposite end of the table. Petunia wiped her mouth with the napkin. Her movements were trembling, perhaps in anger, the numerous accusations waiting patiently at the tip of her tongue.

She slowly picked her way with the salad, but one would notice how she used too much force with her knife – the piece of greenery disappearing in her mouth, that was pursed in a strong downward line of a frown.

The seconds ticked and the question was unanswered. "Someone bring me wine."

Harry was almost finished with his meal, when the woman erupted.

"I will not have you drinking anymore liquor while you are under my watch. Understand me?"

Vernon grumbled, banging a hand on the table. "What right do you have, woman? You cannot order me around. I pay for this house, I pay for everything. This is my only indulgence. Let me drink." One of the maids brought a wine from Vernon's collection. A Romanée-Conti La Tâche vintage wine, and Vernon grinned wildly at the sight.

Petunia huffed, her fork cracked open the shell of the abalone she was eating. "For the love of God, you would not even listen to your own wife? I am telling you to stop because this is not doing you any good. I can't believe I'm married to a drunkard."

Vernon's face turned into an ugly shade of purple. "And you think I am happy for marrying a slut?" Vernon laughed, then – when he saw Petunia turn aghast. "You didn't think I'd notice? Wake up, dear – it's the talk of the whole town. You and the Mayor? I know everything, Pet. No wonder Dudley turned out that way. Tell me, is that child even mine?"

"Dudley is yours, and don't start with how I raised him up. At least _I_ raised him and _you,_ you did nothing! You weren't even there on most of his birthdays. I was there to hang his medals, I was there for him. And you, where were you?"

Vernon and Petunia couldn't keep their mouths shut. The argument escalated until Petunia threw the glass she was holding towards the laughing man.

"-sick, bitch. I only want Dudley back."

"Then go find a way to revive him!"

Harry opened a banana. The yellow fruit was probably part of his diet. The arguments were loud. He wished he brought ear plugs.

"How dare you suggest I'm infertile. Have you no shame at all?"

"Then I will have a bastard child! Who cares? As long as I have an heir, a son that would carry this name when you won't-"

"Are you out of your goddamned mind? You would sleep around women just to have another child? Are you that desperate? Then let's have a divorce. I am _not_ going to stay around here if you will continue this… this madness!"

"Petunia!" The woman let out shrill scream. "Enough! I've had enough of you!" Vernon took off from the dining room, wine all but forgotten.

Harry finished his food, and placed it on the sink. He could hear their shouting. He wonders whether or not they would stop fighting soon. Their son's funeral was only a few days away and they should be mortified if Dudley was there to listen to them.

* * *

He entered his advanced department with a stamped slip from the admin. He received a few stares about the bandages peeking out from the school coat. He figured that having bandages over his wrists would amount to some sort of curiosity.

He ignored all this unwarranted attention.

History class was on the third floor of the building. Upon opening the sliding door, his eardrums were filled with the noisy chatter of _children._ It was as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He was prepared for the teasing, but nothing happened, even when he passed through the front of the room.

The boys in one corner continued talking about the latest game they were playing. Several girls were squealing at one side about _love_ , while a few were dozing. The rest were reading, or finishing a paper. Harry blinked and was reminded of his late Chemistry paper. He had to pass by the Teacher's Lounge later, and hopefully Snape would accept it.

"Harry! Welcome back!"

Harry smiled. "Yeah, thanks Susan." He placed his bag on his seat. A couple of students broke away from their clique and surrounded him.

"Hey is it true? I heard your cousin died."

"Yeah, come on Harry, share us what you know."

Harry understood why they were so interested. Hey, it wasn't always that the resident school bully was heralded a _hero_ on the news.

"Well, I wasn't there with him, but you're welcome to drop by and see his body yourself." Harry smirked. "Well, you've all seen what it's like. His face is barely recognizable." Some of the girls scrunched their nose. "That's nasty ya' know. Ever heard of respect for the dead?"

Harry bobbed his head in agreement. "Yeah, I would respect any dead body, if only it wasn't Dudley." Harry joked about the entire incident with his friends and cut it off when he saw the bush head that was approaching. "Guys, I'll talk to you later, okay."

Harry could not avoid the swift hug that was sent his way and he flinched as his injuries were pressed together.

"Harry." The voice started. Hermione might be under the illusion that if she said Harry's name in just the right tone, Harry would understand what she meant to say. That she was worried, and that she was relieved he was alright, and that he owed her an explanation.

"Hermione." Harry greeted, then pushed her away. Hermione reached out to touch him again, but her hand halted in midair. She then uttered three words that Harry feared. "Harry. We need to talk."

 _Damn it to hell_.

"Before that, your notebook. I finished copying everything. Give me a sec, let me get it."

Harry opened his bag and took the yellow hello-kitty notebook and handed it over to his friend.

"Ron told me you collapsed, and the next day you're gone. Now – you're like this. Wait, are those, bandages?"

Harry made a show of looking surprised, then looked at his wrists, and stared at the bandage on his collarbone that was on plain sight. "Ah, this. I fell down the stairs. No big deal."

Hermione looked skeptical. "Can't you think of a better excuse than that?"

"Well, whatever happened, it doesn't concern you. You don't have to worry about me Hermione." Harry placed a hand on Hermine's shoulder. "I'm fine."

Several students began entering the classroom and the noise quieted down. "Wow, look at that. Sir Cuthbert is early."

Harry walked away and Hermione gritted her teeth.

The man entered the room, and roll called while everyone was hurrying to take a seat. Harry rocked his chair. On his desk was a plain white folder. He wondered how it got there without him noticing.

He opened the first page, ignoring the man's lecture, and stared as he saw the title. It was a history project, the research project. He skimmed through the whole thing and found that it was a detailed report that discussed the topic thoroughly. The only fault he could find was that some of the statements seemed opinionated, but the argument that was present was supported by several sources. Harry was bemused at what rich people could do in such a short time. The whole thing was written in Draco's style though, and no matter how much he tried to deny that Draco was not capable of doing anything by himself, this was proof.

He was not the school's second rank for nothing. At the back of the folder was a small note.

_I've finished the paper as you can see. We'll finish the visual aids this weekend._

_I also made sure that Cho will keep her mouth shut._

_Binns will let us off early, so come with me to the rooftop. We can talk there._

_Ready to beg Potter?_

_If you're finished reading this letter, tear it apart. Now._

How childish. There it was, pot calling kettle black. Harry reread the letter and tore it apart, stuffing the bits on his pocket. He glanced at the room to see that Malfoy wasn't present. He must have skipped it in boredom.

The chalk dragged across the board. Sir Cuthbert Binns was droning about the importance of cleanliness and passing the said work before deadline. The format for the next assignment was simple, it must be written on a short bond-paper with one and a half inches margin on all sides. The topic was an argumentative essay about the effects of migration in society, hand-written, with at least three book sources, and not less than two hundred fifty words but not exceeding three hundred.

"You are dismissed from this class. Use this free time to talk to your partners about the project."

His hand closed his History notebook, placing it in his bag. He slung the black school issue bag and headed over the exit. A nervous glance towards Hermione made him aware that his friend was staring at him. She was waiting for an opportune moment to talk to him. Before she could call out his name however, the teen was out of the classroom.

Harry walked through the empty hallways, wondering why he was even considering the note. Harry started questioning his sanity.

* * *

The door to the rooftop was guarded by Crab and Goyle. They grunted as a greeting, and held the door open for him.

Harry was greeted with the view of the beautiful sky. The same cheery sky was now a vibrant orange, yellow, and the edges were pale pinkish violet. They clouds dotted it, like strips of cotton. The sun was about to set.

The breeze came strong and it went billowing against his robes. It was cold. It signaled the coming of winter. With the wind, there were leaves – that danced and whirled at one spot of the wall. Then, there was Malfoy.

"Took you long enough." Draco yawned, and gestured towards the spot beside him. "Thought you wouldn't come. Have you even checked your watch? It's been an hour since you got dismissed by that faggot."

Harry harrumphed. "You're exaggerating it. I came here as soon as he dismissed us." Harry stared at the blond whose back was stretched to the flat of a wooden table, hands at the back of his neck and apparently, watching the clouds.

"No. Check your watch, idiot."

The blond tilted his head and twisted around to lie down on the front of his chest. Draco put his chin on the knuckles of his hands and grinned. Harry proceeded to check his watch, and wondered, thirty minutes passed by without him noticing anything.

Harry eventually took a seat on the bench and placed his bag on the floor. He hugged his knees.

"You think that's scary?"

Harry stared at his watch again, wondering where the past half hour of his life went.

"How do you know all this?" Harry mumbled. The fire that usually consumed their meetings was extinguished by Harry's refusal to rise on any of Malfoy's baits.

"Let's just say that I can see things normal humans can't. I'll let you figure it out for yourself." Draco grinned and reached for a plate. "You want some cookies? Mother sent me a pack, and I can't eat them all by myself."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "What's up with you?" Draco scowled, and returned to his reclining position. "It's a wonderful day for me. It's not every day that I see you this miserable, and I'm planning to savor it. Go on, it's a treat for amusing me."

It was just cookies. They were harmless things. And Harry felt hungry, so he grabbed one. He took another. "This is good stuff even though it looks weird."

Draco laughed. "You don't think I know? Mother's quite good in baking."

Harry frowned, taking another bite. He pursed his lips together and deliberated, "I'm really dying, am I?" He turned towards the blond, who looked so out of character, munching on the heaven-sent yellow brown thing, that Harry himself couldn't get enough from. "You know I won't make it, that's why you're being all nice to me." Harry scoffed, and bit on the oatmeal cookie. The white chocolate melted on his tongue and the crunched almond was a good touch to mix. They continued eating in silence while the sun set before them.

Soon enough, the chips were gone, and Harry stood up. "Water?"

Harry accepted the glass. "Thanks."

Draco smiled, and began stretching. Harry placed the plastic glass on the table and Draco refilled it to drink on the same cup.

"This is all new to me you know. You can't expect me to take that all in without questioning the logic." It was a touch hysterical. Even Harry's voice cracked at the end.

Draco laughed. "Welcome to the other side of the world."

Harry rocked on the balls of his feet. "Other side… I'd rather go back to my old life, thank you." Draco's playful nature turned into a complete one-eighty, and Harry soon found that he'd just gone from one predator to another.

"So, when are you going to start begging me? I'm the only one who can help you with your predicament."

Harry knew that. From the start he was wondering when Draco would start demanding something from him.

"I didn't come here to beg. I came here to offer you a deal."

Malfoy licked his lips. "A deal? What kind of deal?"

The problem- Harry pursed his lips and thought of what he could offer, and found none. He settled for a bluff.

"I know you want something from me, and if I give that to you, you would help me – with this thing."

Draco frowned and raised one of his hands towards the sky. "When you don't even know what I want from you, how can you expect to carry on a deal with me, Potter? That's just so like you – saying the first thing that comes out of your puny wittle brain."

The blond adjusted his position so he was sitting on the bench. "I don't want to argue with you. I don't even know if what you're saying is real. I honestly don't know what's going around – with this, with me."

Harry felt it then, a brief contraction of his heart. He raised a shaky hand at the coils, and wondered what he was doing wrong. He watched as Draco approached him and took his right wrist. The next thing he knew he was losing vertigo. Then, darkness.

Harry was lying on someone's lap when he regained his consciousness. Black tar was covering his wrists and it felt disgusting when he reached out to touch it.

Draco traced his forehead, and Harry trembled before him.

"No." Harry closed his eyes and averted it towards the school-grounds. He couldn't, for the life of him, even move. "What happened?" Harry said as he observed the moving bodies with envy. They were all completely normal people, with completely normal lives.

Draco's response was a rather worrisome, "You fainted."

The next thing Harry did was tilt his head towards the spots of red that he could see in his vision.

* * *

Shadows weaved patterns on the floor. They crowded about him like excited children. It was a stark contrast against the light.

The room was quiet white walled, smelling of fresh bed-sheets and antiseptic. The infirmary. Draco was kind enough to accompany him and it took a lot of convincing on his part. Harry was really thankful that Draco agreed. Madam Pomfrey was sitting at one desk, taking notes and watching the students of her ward. He tilted his head on the pillow.

Some people would think the reason why he was always in the infirmary was because he was sickly, and his infamous status as a _trouble maker_. Pomfrey could find nothing wrong with him except for the sudden paleness that was a tad lighter than his normal skin color. She gave him something really bitter, and green. After drinking the juice, he felt the need to wretch, but kept it inside knowing Pomfrey would scold him for not being able to keep it in.

The woman was busy, and Harry was amused to see her battle against the constant stream of students, well-wishers that visited the sick bay. Her gaze penetrated their skulls and sent them careening outside her sanctuary. This amusement was short-lived and he argued with the matron to let him out. There was no reason to keep him bed-ridden. Eventually, the woman lost, unable to keep up with his torrid enthusiasm for _freedom_.

Before leaving the infirmary, he managed to filch out something important. Pomfrey told him that five students knew of his condition. One of them was Ron, therefore, there was also Hermione. He then began wondering if there was a way to prevent leakage.

Contrary to what he told Pomfrey, he used the excuse slip for skipping classes. He wandered about the school grounds and eased his guilt whenever a bell rang. During his sixth period of classes, Harry settled was sufficiently tired from his strolls. He bid his time by hiding on his favorite spot by the lake.

There, under a wisteria tree, he ate the food that was on his lunch box. Harry attempted to bring himself out of the mud-hole that he was wallowing for the past few hours.

Sure, he had no concrete plan of how to carry on with his life, but things would work out in the end if he was prepared to face it, right? Malfoy agreed to help him, under several terms that he would make sure he would fulfill. There was a certain thrill about knowing that there was more to the world than the surface. There was a whole other society that lived under the shadows, and he was one of those few people who would be privy to this fact.

His thoughts turned into an abrupt halt when he felt a hand poking his cheek.

"Mate, thought you could avoid us for the whole day?"

Harry couldn't stop himself from frowning. "I tried."

Hermione sat beside him. "Well, if you really wanted to avoid us, you should go somewhere less obvious." The girl placed a hand on the frills of her dress when a strong gust of wind blew. Ron whistled. Harry laughed at his friend's antics. The two tested the waters and when they noticed Harry was not going to run away, they settled around him.

"You can't avoid us forever, anyway." Ron said. The red head grabbed on Harry's sandwich. "Ron, that's mine." Ron tore the sandwich in half and put the other on Hermione's hand. The wisteria moaned together with Harry.

"My sandwich. Gone." Harry mourned while he watched the sandwich disappear on Ron and Hermione's mouths. Harry settled for last one from his pack. "How come both of you are here?"

Ron grinned. "Skipping." Hermione shook her head in disappointment at Ron's flippancy for school. "Vacant."

They fell in the synch, content with each other's company. Ron was the first to break the silence.

"So, have you decided Harry? I didn't get the chance to hear if you're going to join the team." Hermione slapped Ron hard on the head.

"Sorry Ron, I don't think I have enough time to participate." Harry replied. He took a napkin from his bag and wiped his lips. He felt a small twinge when he saw Ron's dejected frown. He was also very aware that they were still wary of confronting him. He knew that this meeting was long overdue, and when Hermione placed her hand on his, rubbing against his pulse – Harry snapped.

He pulled his hand away and turned away from them. "I know what you're both here for." Harry paused. He tucked his lunchbox inside the compartment of his bag. "It's simple. My uncle is a drunkard, and I'm a convenient punching bag."

Hermione cringed. "Harry, that's just sick." Ron nodded. "Blimey, it's worse than I thought. Why don't you report it?"

Harry stretched, and thumped his head against the trunk before answering. "I did. Nothing happened."

He began to recount stories of his childhood and Ron and Hermione was all ears. He wished that he had disheartened them enough so they would not bring him any trouble. "I'll deal with this when the time comes. Believe me when I say I tried, but _if_ this is taken to court, I know that it'd only make things worse."

"-but Harry…" There was that tone again. He stood up from his seat and dusted his pants. When it was clear that he was going to walk away, his two friends caught up to him and halted his tracks.

"No buts Ron, Hermione. I don't care what you think. You won't do anything about this. It's my problem and it would stay that way." He turned around to face them, and when he saw Hermione's hand reaching out to touch him, he slapped it away. Hermione was aghast at his flippancy.

"Look. I just don't want everyone else to know. I don't want them to know that I've been abused like this for twelve years and I've done nothing about it. It's just, just… _You don't understand._ "

"You shouldn't feel guilty about it. It's not your fault." Hermione quipped. "She's right, mate. We could tell Dumbledore-" Ron hastily said.

"No one. Don't. EVER. Tell anyone about this." Harry growled.

"You have a doctor right? Ask him to testify for you." Hermione held her hand. The girl was pushing Harry into a corner and she didn't know it. "And if that doesn't work, you could run away. You're not obliged to stay in that pig's house."

Harry stared. It was a mistake to tell his friends of his problem. He should have avoided them until the end. That way they wouldn't be involved in this mess. He laughed at the suggestion, and watched as Ron turned red. Harry covered his eyes, and attempted to calm down the growing hysteria in him. "This is not a joke. I can't do that. I can't just disappear."

"We could hide you." Ron blurted out.

 _'Hide me?'_ How would that work? Where would they hide him? How would they hide him? "No. Ron." Harry said. "But this has to stop." Hermione said. Harry was peeved that they would continue to force their own opinions against his own. He already gave everything much thought and he would not change his mind about it.

They parted when they heard the last bell that signaled the start of the seventh period. Harry knew that their promises would only hold true until he kept his eye on them. If he falters, he would not be able to stop them, and this posed a problem. An inquisitive mind like Hermione's would not stop until she got to the bottom of the problem, and Ron's impulsive character would thin in impatience, getting all of them into trouble.

* * *

It was midnight when he awoke to the swaying of the trees. The cold night air bundled through a crack on the window panes, and the yellow candles that surrounded the room flickered against its hissing tongue. That was all the warning he got when the shadows began to swarm about him, rendering him immobile. This was the fourth night that he found himself within the depressing room of the manor. Any recollection of the events that led to his current sorry state was swept under the tide of the sudden pulsating feeling he could feel in his stomach.

He trembled, landing on the wooden floor, and curled onto himself. His fingers curled and uncurled unused to the sensitivity, and the hot sweltering heat that suddenly seemed so unbearable.

"It's so hot… Thomasss what is this?" Harry groaned. He felt as if someone was burning him, but it was not painful – it was of a different kind, like being on the edge. Something terrifying was going to happen, and he felt that he should enjoy it – surrender in the tide of sensation – of feeling. But this, this was also cruel, and he longed for air, _water_ – anything that would soothe the burn.

A cool finger swept his cheek briskly, and Harry realized that was all he needed. He wanted more of it, and leaned towards the touch, rubbing the hand on his face, urging Thomas to do something, to _fuck him_.

"Nggh. Help me… So ahhh. Thomass. Please!" His eyes stared back at the red – swirling orbs, hoping that it would just swallow him whole. The demon smiled at the invitation.

Clothing was loosened, and tossed haphazardly on the ground. The bandages were roughly torn out of their neat wrappings and his face kissed the floor. Dizziness passed. The dim lights became mere blurs. A hand dragged him by the hair and sent him flat against the metal railing of a balcony. Barely awake, he felt the hungry fingers travel the expanse of his back, tracing and soothing the pain. Harry purred happily, urging the hand to continue the ministrations – for, anything, a pleasant coolness to get rid of the burn.

"Touch yourself."

Harry did not think twice of doing what the voice in his head commanded. Laughter accompanied his motions as he grinded against the railing, hands guiding him where it should be, and soon enough, he was moaning at every thrust he gave onto his hands. The rational part of his brain wanted it to stop, because what he was doing was unsightly. "Nghh."

"Faster." He could feel something wet touching the shell of his ear, it trailed down, and he shivered. "Don't stop."

Harry would not stop this pleasurable sensation for the life of him. He felt the wetness trail on his back and gasped when the same wet thing began exploring his ass, hands parting the cheeks. "Thomaasss-" Harry hissed the name.

The tongue lathered him and entered him and this was _heaven_. He moaned, loudly, lost in the dizzying haze of moving, back and forth, of the _maybe_ the answer was there. There. "Come."

And he came, hurtling the hot seed, the dirtying his hands, dripping on the floor – on the railings. He began laughing, half crazed and elated but itwas still _not enough._ The demon turned him around, and his breath was suddenly gone. He loved this.

The possessive kiss seemed to steal all his remaining thoughts. His own hands, wet with seed, combed against the long silky hair that swathed his _lover's_ form. He felt two strong arms attach itself from the back of his knees and the teen caught on fast, wrapping it against the man's torso.

Harry felt his back collide on the hard and uneven expanse of the railing – his head lolling to one side and back head.

Harry stared at the red orbs that seemed to hold his stare. He was lost and seduced with the strong allure the desire held for him. Thomas was everything he was not – he was perfection. A _god._ His god? "Fuck. Ahh!"

Thomas entered him in one swift thrust. He began thrusting and Harry found himself moaning in wanton desire. His back grated against contours of the metal, his own cock rubbing against the naked skin of his partner.

"You've been a very naughty boy." Thomas said, his voice pure silk, and feeling it reverberate against his body, Harry's only retort was a long moan, his mouth on a perfect _O_. "Very, naughty indeed." He felt his head bob up and down, in synch with the violent thrusts. "I'm a not ahh- hah..nggh." Harry couldn't bring himself to say the words, knowing they would only be mangled with what he felt.

"Naughty boys deserved to be punished, don't they?" Harry opened his eyes, not knowing he closed it awhile ago. Thomas staring at him, and it held his gaze. He found himself kissing the beautiful creature. Their tongues battled for dominance, even though Harry knew he would lose from the start.

They broke for air, and Harry winced when he felt teeth begin to dig on the side of his neck. It broke his skin. The mixed pain and pleasure – sent Harry in a screaming orgasm. The man followed soon after, pulling out from him.

Harry collapsed in dead faint.

"Get dressed. Tonight, I am in need of sustenance, and even if you offer your blood, or this, it will not suffice."

* * *

They took a cab. At this point, Harry stopped wondering why the human driver would not even look twice – to take in the demon's bizarre appearance. When he prodded the reason, Thomas supplied that humans were instinctively ignorant of their presence.

They were dropped off in a noisy district. It was crowded, cars littered the streets. Women in outrageous clothing posed and flirted with the random passerby, selling their bodies.

The air was cold and it made him press closer to his companion. Thomas only chuckled at the child's antics. Several people crowded the street. From above, the lights flashed in different colors, music blared and the voices were a cacophony of sultry teasing, shouting. Laughing and drawling. A drunkard passed out and was laid on the middle of the street walk, and Harry cringed as he spied a torn skirt tossed in front of a trashcan. A brawl was starting at one end of the street where a crowd of people cheered on.

Was this life. Another side of life that he hadn't known of…

Perturbed, Harry asked, "What are we doing here?"

Thomas put a finger on his lips, and told him to follow quietly. Harry attempted to resist, walking forward but found that he could not, his feet moving on its own. They stopped before a random establishment. The bouncer seemed to know Thomas, and soon enough, his eardrums were assaulted by the loud booming music. He was pressed against bodies, and their sweat clung to his skin. Harry felt one or more hands begin to grope him.

On the stage, there was a half naked woman who rubbed herself against a pole. Her skin was tanned. Black hair was tied in a pony-tail, where braids trailed until the middle of her back. Her breasts bounced as she swung to and fro, her mouth painted with a daring smile. Those at the front of the gathering stuffed money on her undergarments, and hooted for her to continue the show. She rewarded them, wiggling her ass, and touching herself. Hanging on top, there were body painted dancers – male and female who gyrated against the music.

Harry soon found out that he was lost, and Thomas left him alone in the middle of the crowd. He panicked and pressed a hand on his pocket, feeling for his wallet. He groaned. _Nothing._

The bar seemed inviting, and his feet dragged him towards the table. Harry collapsed on the seat and leaned his head on the bar stool.

"Hey, kid, want a drink? It's on the house. You seem pretty lost. Did your partner leave you? Happens all the time."

Harry stared at the multi-colored beverage and thought that it was his salvation. "Thanks." He took the drink and downed it in one go. The burn soothed his pains and he placed his cheek on the marble top of the bar.

A minute later, he found himself kissing a random girl, or was it a guy? His only thought was of the vibrant dark green – blue - yellow shade, disproportioned, that seemed to glitter in a thousand pieces, shifting in colors, utterly magnificent. The voices of the world coalescing in a soothing rhyme that would slow or rush to an inescapable beat, prodding him for laughter, because he was stuck in how silly the voices sounded… "Come on, relax, relax, enjoy this." The soft whisper becoming a repeating drone in his head that echoed endlessly in a closed chamber "I'll take care of you."

* * *

Friday came, and Harry found that he couldn't focus on anything. He swore he was sleeping through all of his classes. He also wished that he could clear out his head. It seemed to him that he was stuck in a permanent high, and no matter what he did, it didn't come down.

Harry found himself vomiting inside the Boy's rest room during lunch time. A yellowish white substance came out, and he drank the tap water to wash off the acrid taste. Events from last morning came in disjointed quality. He could remember a bed, and the girl, and him fucking her on the foul smelling mattress. The sex was great. She had a vagina and she was very loud. He finally had the answer to his sexuality and Harry thought he was bi. That was the good part.

_"Seems you've had fun without me… I'll have to rectify that. I must say, you attract the best type."_

Remembering the next set of events made him dry heave. Thomas was menacing, he was terrifying to behold, a black wraithlike thing - standing before their exhausted forms. He remembered the girl asking who Thomas was before the blinds shut close, together with the doors. Thomas ripped her apart, literally. She was screaming loud, and she pissed herself in fright. All Harry could do was crawl on the edge of the bed. He clamped both of his hands on his ears as he watched her die.

The sensation of her guts landing on the side of his face – her blood splattered everywhere, on his eye-lids, on his hands and it stood to haunt him. His eyes were blinking closed, and he thought he was also screaming when Thomas began to start putting the fleshy bits inside his mouth.

"Damn it."

The scattering points of the pavement proved to be a good source of solace as his feet obsessively stomped on it, like a bug. By sundown, he was inside Draco's car. He knew that the day was far from over.


End file.
